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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818883">Undercover Lover</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup'>palominopup</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cas/CIA, Dean/Deputy Sheriff, Gay Sex, Gen, M/M, Undercover, cozy mystery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:54:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/palominopup/pseuds/palominopup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak, operative for the CIA, had a price on his head. His boss sent him to a small Southern town to blend in. Suddenly, he was James Milton, a writer for a show on travel. Everything was fine, though boring for the trained assassin, until someone kills the town’s resident beauty queen. The Number One suspect? None other than Castiel, since they’d had a very public argument at the library. Now, he must find out the real killer without blowing his cover. </p><p>Ex-Marine, single dad, and current deputy sheriff of Coosa Falls, Alabama, Dean Winchester, was used to the usual traffic tickets and an occasional drunk during football season. Suddenly, he’s faced with a dead beauty queen. Nobody liked Lilith Carrigan, but having a murder in the town was causing quite the uproar. The new guy in town was his prime suspect, but for some reason, Dean didn’t think he was guilty. </p><p>With the help of his new friends, Mildred and Frank, Castiel sets out to find the killer. Having an elderly widow and a conspiracy theorist on his side might be a bit much for the operative. And finding himself lusting after the very person that can put him in jail and blow his cover wasn’t the best idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you enjoy my new story. It is set in the South. I will be using lots of Southern-isms. Some of you might think I've lost my ability to write, but seriously, this is the way people talk in Alabama. If you have questions about such things like grits casserole or 'bless your heart', please ask. </p><p>I want to think my editor, Stephanie, for keeping me on track and offering suggestions. I do read cozy mysteries, but this is my first attempt at writing one and it's in her wheelhouse.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“It won’t be that bad,” Director Cain said, taking a sip of the strong black coffee the diner was known for. </p><p> Castiel refrained from rolling his eyes. “I still don’t see why I can’t...” </p><p>The director raised his hand and Castiel stopped talking. His fate was sealed and there wasn’t anything more to say. Beside the director, Special Agent Henriksen smirked. “Don’t worry, Novak, I’ll take care of you.” </p><p>“Right,” Castiel answered snidely. He pulled the large manila envelope toward him and reluctantly opened it. Inside were the documents needed to disappear until the price on his head was eliminated. Driver’s license, social security card, a passport, and various other paperwork he’d need. “What’s my cover story?” </p><p>Henriksen leaned over and pointed to the diploma. “You will be staying in Coosa Falls, Alabama. You are single, born and raised in California, where you still live, and are a loner. Your current occupation is the writer for a show on The Travel Channel and you’re currently on sabatical to write a book about your travels. We’ve rented you a house and leased you a car that will be waiting at the airport under your new name.” </p><p>“James A. Milton,” Castiel read off the driver’s license.  </p><p>“Once your cover is in place, you will stay under the radar until we find the leak. An email account has been set up by a trusted technician in the cybersecurity unit and it will be encrypted so that you and Henriksen can communicate.” </p><p>Henriksen slid two cell phones toward him. “These are your phones.” He tapped one of them. A late model iPhone. “Never call me on this one. Ever. We will mostly communicate via email. If it is urgent, I will call<em>  you </em> with an alias. It is stored in your phone under the name Charles Whitfield. I’m a friend from LA, though it should never come up.” He touched the smaller phone. “This one is a burner phone. This is for emergencies only. You get made, you see something suspicious... whatever, call this one.” </p><p>Castiel had been undercover more times than he could count, but mostly to catch incendiaries and usually in Middle Eastern countries. With his dark hair and a full beard, he could pass as a native, especially with the tan he usually kept. This time it was different though. This time, he was the hunted. A leak in their own agency put him in danger and several terrorist cells wanted him dead. The current price on his head was two million dollars. “Couldn’t you have found a place where I would fit in better? Small towns in the South are close knit. I’ll stand out like a sore thumb. And what is my reason for chosing Alabama?” </p><p>“A small town in Alabama is the last place anyone would look,” Cain said, setting his coffee cup down. “Your agent picked it. I wouldn’t think the locals are going to ask too many questions, Novak. Relax. Take some time off and catch up on your reading. You can start with the life history that Victor set up for you.” He glanced down at the packet and Castiel nodded. </p><p> “Your flight leaves tonight,” Henriksen said, pushing an airline ticket in James Milton’s name across the table. Castiel took it and put it into the envelope. “Take care of yourself, Novak. I don’t want to lose my best operative.” </p><p>“Thank you, Sir.” Castiel stood with the other two men and followed them out to the parking lot.  </p><p>Henriksen handed him a small metal case. “Laptop and unregistered gun. Leave yours behind.” </p><p>Cain put a hand over Castiel’s as he took it. “Try not to use the gun, Novak. Remember, you are to blend in. Or better yet, keep a very low profile.” </p><p>He nodded his goodbyes and got behind the wheel of his baby. The 1960 Corvette convertible was a gift from his parents when he graduated from Boston University with a major in Foreign Studies and a double-minor in Arabic and Russian languages. Naomi and Chuck Novak were killed in a car accident a year after he graduated and his car became his most prized possession. Since he was out of the country most of the time, he rarely got to drive it, and it stayed safe in an air-conditioned garage at a storage facility. </p><p>He drove to the small hotel where he’d been staying since he’d arrived back in the country. His condo was under surveillance and he wasn’t allowed to go there. At the hotel, he packed up his duffle. He’d have to make due with what he had until he got to Alabama. A knock on the door had him pulling the Ruger that Henriksen had given him. “Who is it?” He called, standing far left of the entry. </p><p>“Ketch.” Castiel went to the door and looked out the peephole. He opened the door and the other agent strode in like he owned the place. “I need your keys. </p><p>“Keys?” </p><p>“To your car,” Ketch said, looking bored at the grunt detail. He’d also been the one to meet Castiel at the airport and hustle him to an undisclosed location, a seedy hotel west of the city. </p><p>Reluctantly, Castiel handed over his keys. “You scratch her or put one extra mile on her and I’ll use your fucking balls for earrings. Got it?” </p><p>“Got it.” Ketch twirled the keyring on his forefinger. “You’re leaving out of Reagan National as James Milton. I will pick you up at five. Be ready.” Then he was gone. </p><p>While he was stuck waiting, Castiel read over his new identity. He was now James Milton. A <em> writer </em> of all things.  </p><p>At the terminal, he parked his luggage against the wall and made the call he was dreading. “Hello?” </p><p>“It’s me.” </p><p>“Hello, lover,” he said like having a strange number come up on his phone was no big deal. And for Mick, it wasn’t.  </p><p>“Mick, I’m leaving on a trip.” Mick knew enough about his job to know not to ask the wrong questions. </p><p>“When?” </p><p>“I’m at the airport.” His response was met with silence, so he continued. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” </p><p>“Okay.” That was it. They’d been seeing each other for three years and Mick was used to Castiel disappearing. He really was the perfect boyfriend, but Castiel was the one unwilling to make it more serious than it was. “I’ll see you when you get home. Be safe.” Mick’s rich Irish accent always made him smile. </p><p>“I will. Bye.” </p><p>“Castiel?” </p><p>“Yes?”  </p><p>“You know I love you and I’ll be waiting.” Castiel closed his eyes and the Irishman’s image filled his mind. Mick was a beautiful man, so kind, and intelligent.  </p><p>“You’re too good for me. See you soon.” Castiel ended the call and blew out a breath. Would he ever be able to commit? Did he <em> love </em> Mick though? God, the sex was amazing and they shared so many interests. He truly cared for the bar owner, but was it love? </p><p>An hour later, he was waiting at his gate. He spent the time before his flight getting to know the new laptop and checking out the new accounts under his alias. Victor was nothing if not thorough. He had a bank account, a credit card with a nice sized limit, and a fake email account. He even had an Amazon Prime membership. </p><p>“<em> Flight 2382 to Atlanta, now boarding at Gate 32C. Gate 32C. </em>”  </p><p>Castiel checked his boarding pass and huffed. He had to uproot his entire life and they couldn’t even spring for first class. He packed away his laptop and waited for priority seating, then people traveling with young children. Finally, it was his turn and he made his way to his seat. He was stuck in the aisle and tried his best to pull his six-foot frame into the small space provided. </p><p>There was a two-hour layover in Atlanta and then he was on his way to Montgomery. His leased car turned out to be a hybrid and he flinched, hating that the real love of his life was back in DC draped in a tarp. He looked on his phone to find the closest hotel to spend the night. Tomorrow he’d find Coosa Falls. </p><p>The next morning, he programmed his new address into the phone and plugged it into the car. According to GPS, it would take him forty-five minutes to reach his destination. With the air conditioner going full blast, he headed east. Was it always this hot and humid here? It was only the first week of June. </p><p>The tiny sign welcomed him to Coosa Falls and it looked like he drove into Mayberry. Where was Andy Griffith? Small shops lined the main street and he stopped the car when he saw the town’s library. He did love to read and with time on his hands, he’d probably be visiting that place quite a bit. It was a small, red brick building set back off the street by a green lawn and bike racks. An elderly man stared at him from the sidewalk. Castiel knew he could take him with one hand behind his back, but he moved on, turning left at the next corner. He found himself on a lane lined with old homes.  </p><p>“<em> You have reached your destination </em>,” the GPS informed him and he checked the number on the mailbox. </p><p>“Quaint,” he mumbled as he looked at what would be his home away from home. It was white, with a large porch on the front. Immediately to the left of the house was a huge oak tree that had probably seen the Civil War. The house was old too. Castiel didn’t know a lot about architecture, but he’d bet it was built in the late eighteen-hundreds. Dormer windows told him there was two stories. His instructions told him to call the real estate agent when he arrived. He dialed the number of a Donna Hanscum. </p><p>“Hello.” </p><p>“Hello, uh, this is James Milton. We’ve corresponded via email and I believe you have the key to my new home.” </p><p>“Mr. Milton. Welcome to Coosa Falls. I am so excited you’re here.” Strangely enough, she did sound a little too enthusiastic. “Did you find the place okay? Of course, you did. A world traveler like yourself. It’s not like you could get lost in our little town.” She snorted when she laughed. “I’m just right around the corner. Hold onto your panties and I’ll be right there.” </p><p><em> Hold onto your panties </em>? He’d heard about Southern colloquialisms but hearing it firsthand was going to be an education. The last ten years of his career, he’d been infiltrating terrorist cells and speaking in various Arabic dialects so much that he found himself thinking in the language sometimes. </p><p>He put his phone into his pocket and leaned against his car. He didn’t have to wait long. A white Nissan Pathfinder pulled up behind his hybrid. The blonde that got out looked to be in her late thirties. She was dressed in a bright yellow skirt and blazer, holding a covered dish. “It is so good to meet you. Lord, you are a beautiful man. Is there a Missus Milton? Some little Miltons? You didn’t mention it in your emails. I suppose I should have asked. We have a nice school here in Coosa Falls. Some send their kids to the private school over in Auburn, but those are more of the country club set. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a member of the country club. Do you play golf?” </p><p>Castiel blinked at her for several seconds trying to catch up with the conversation. “Uh, not married. No children. And I don’t play golf.” </p><p>“Good to know. Some of the single ladies in town will be interested to know all about you.” She nodded toward the house and he noticed the potholders on her hands. “If you could just reach into my jacket pocket and get the key.” She glanced down at her hands. “Oh, I brought you a grits casserole. We normally have it for breakfast, but I figured you would want to get settled in and not grocery shop today.” <em> Grits casserole </em>. What in God’s name was that? It sounded vile. </p><p>“Thank you,” Castiel said, taking the key gingerly from her pocket and inserting it into the door. He allowed her to enter first and she headed toward the back of the house. He took a few seconds to look around. The home was furnished and he wondered how the agency managed that. The floors were hardwood and the ceilings seemed to be about twelve feet high. A house in DC like this would cost millions. The furniture was dated, but everything looked freshly dusted. </p><p>“What do you think?” The real estate agent asked, coming around the corner. </p><p>“It’s nice.” </p><p>“You’re getting a great deal here. Old Missus Howell was just put in the nursing home by her son. He’s some hot shot lawyer in Birmingham. <em> Anyway </em>, he hasn’t had time to put the house on the market, so when your request came in, I asked him if he’d have a problem renting it for the summer. It’s a shame you aren’t staying longer, but who knows? Right? You could meet Miss Right and decide Coosa Falls is where you were meant to be.” </p><p>“Well, thank you for the keys and all your help... and the casserole. I’m going to get settled.” He moved to the door and she stared at him blankly. </p><p>“You don’t want a tour?” </p><p>“I think I can manage finding my way around. If I have any questions, I do have your number.” He shut the door in her face.  </p><p>He unloaded the car after he was sure the realtor was gone, and it only took him ten minutes to unpack. Since he hadn’t had a chance to go to his condo, his bag still had his clothing from his last mission in it. Cargo pants, a few lightweight shirts, jeans, and underwear. He’d have to do laundry weekly, but he’d be fine for the short time he’d be here. The bedroom he picked was the master with en suite bathroom, complete with a clawfoot tub.  </p><p>Downstairs again, he poked at the casserole with his finger. It was semi-warm. The kitchen was bright and sunny, and the appliances were fairly new. He found the silverware and grabbed a fork. The first bite wasn’t as bad as he thought. Cutting a small portion off and microwaving it, he decided it was edible.  </p><p>It took him the rest of the night to take inventory of the house and place an order on Amazon. He also made a grocery list. He didn’t cook, but most of the time when he was home from a mission, he ate microwave meals and sandwiches. </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>Dean Winchester pulled into his designated parking place in front of the sheriff’s office and got out of his cruiser. It was just the Fourth of June and he was already sweltering. “Hot enough for ya?” The call came from Abigail King, the town’s postmaster. She was unlocking the doors of the post office across the street. </p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” he responded loudly because Miss King was hard of hearing. He saw the lights on in the window of the Coosa Falls Gazette and pushed the door open. “Sammy?” </p><p>“Back here,” his brother called from his office. Dean followed the sound and stepped over a pile of last week’s newspapers.  </p><p>“Subscriptions down?” He asked with a laugh. The Gazette was a free weekly paper that everyone got in their mailboxes on Mondays. The newspaper was paid for by advertisers, local businesses, and some of the bigger companies in Auburn, the next town over.  </p><p>“That never gets old,” Sam said dryly from his cluttered desk. “What’s up?” </p><p>“Nada. You get the blotter from Rufus yet?” Sam received the previous days calls from the sheriff every weekday morning and from the dispatcher on weekends. In Coosa Falls, the only crime they usually had was an occasional fender bender, petty theft, and a few drunks during football season. </p><p>“Yes. Someone climbed the water tower again.” </p><p>“Let me guess. Roll Tide or War Eagle?” Dean had lived in Alabama long enough to know you had to pick sides. You were either an Alabama fan or an Auburn fan. It didn’t matter if his team was in the Big 12 Conference. </p><p>“Neither.” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Someone wrote ‘Jerome has a small dick’. In gold.” </p><p>Dean snorted. “Do we know if it’s true?” Sam shrugged in response. “Probably one of the high school kids. I can’t believe I missed it.” Dean had been on a much-needed vacation with his daughter and had just gotten back the night before.  </p><p>“How was the trip? Mandy have fun?” </p><p>“Great. Garth sends his love. He and Bess have got a great place. You have to come with me next year.” Dean had met Garth while in the Marine Corps. After their last mission in Syria, the two decided to get out. Dean put his training to use and became a deputy sheriff and Garth married his high school sweetheart and bought some land in Montana, turning it into a fly-fishing getaway. “Mandy had fun. Bess took her horseback riding and I haven’t heard the end of it. She wants a horse for her birthday.” </p><p>Sam laughed. “It’s a teenage girl thing, Dean. It sounds like you both had a good time.” Sam said, smiling. “Eileen will probably want you both to come to dinner now that you’re back.” </p><p>“I’m always up for that.” Dean loved his sister-in-law and couldn’t wait to see her again. She played a large role in Mandy’s life as a stand-in mom and for that, he was eternally grateful.  </p><p>“Oh, is Mandy coming in to help today?” </p><p>“She’s supposed to be.” Sam had offered to give his daughter a job for the summer so she could have extra spending money. She was saving up for a car. Dean told her he’d match what she saved over the next two years when the time came to buy one. “Well, time to get to work. Have a good one.” He threw up his hand in a wave and left the office. The Sheriff’s Department was next door and he strode in, greeting Jody, the deputy for the night shift, and Linda, their secretary and part-time dispatcher.  </p><p>He walked into the sheriff’s office without knocking. “I’m back. Did you miss me?”  </p><p>Sheriff Rufus Turner looked up over his reading glasses. “’Bout damn time you got back. I’m supposed to be ready to retire, not sit around in a cruiser all day. Made my hemorrhoids act up. Christ, election day can’t get here fast enough.”  </p><p>“No one says you can’t retire before election day, man,” Dean said, sitting down in the cracked leather chair that was probably as old as he was. </p><p>“Right, and let the mayor name one of his cronies as acting sheriff? Bullshit. I ain’t done campaigning for you, son. You are exactly what this town needs.” </p><p>“Not sure if that’s going to happen. Marv hates me.” Marv Armstrong, the mayor of Coosa Falls was a nasty, little man. He hated Dean on principal alone because Dean had never done anything to the man. He’d barely spoke to him in the five years since he’d moved to the little town to be closer to his brother. </p><p>“Marv hates everyone,” Rufus muttered and pushed a sheet of paper over to Dean. “I already sent a copy of the log to your brother, but here’s what happened while you were away. Nothing exciting. Only thing we need to follow up on is the water tower graffiti. Marv has a hardon for getting the culprit. I’m laying money on some high school kid. See what you can turn up.” </p><p>“Ten-four, Rufus.” Dean stood and left the office. In the main room of the station, he leaned his hip on Linda’s desk. “Good morning, Beautiful.” </p><p>Linda Tran was petite, but no one crossed her. She was a force to be reckoned with. Dean called her Tiger Mommy in secret. She’d been a helicopter parent to her son, Kevin, until he got a full ride to Yale. Now, she tended to try to mother Dean. “What time did you get in last night? I hope you got plenty of rest. That jet lag is nothing to ignore.” </p><p>“We were home from the airport by eight and I slept like a baby. I’m heading out to the water tower to take some paint samples. Can you call and have someone from the water company meet me there?” </p><p>She was already dialing when Dean pushed open the door and stood on the sidewalk. Coming from a college town, then traveling so much with the Corps, Dean had a hard time making his home in Coosa Falls. Midway between Montgomery and Auburn, the town was barely a dot on the map. He’d only come because of Sam. His brother had left Stanford Law School and worked in the DA’s office in Atlanta for a couple of years before getting burned out on how humans treated each other. Out of the blue, Dean had gotten a letter saying he’d bought a small-town newspaper in rural Alabama. Dean thought it was a joke until he came to visit him.  </p><p>A month before Dean was set to leave the Marines, another letter came. This one included an application for a deputy. Sam begged Dean to take the job. He’d never been able to say no to Sam. Now, five years later, Dean knew everyone in town and even bought his own house. Mandy was thriving and made lots of friends. Overall, he’d made the right decision. </p><p>He drove down Main Street and turned onto Livingston. There was a car parked in front of old Missus Howell’s house. Alabama tags. One of those fancy-assed hybrids. Dean wondered if the woman’s son was down to go through his mom’s stuff and sell the place. He’d only met the guy once. A real douche. Treated his mother like crap.  </p><p>Dean took another left onto Oak and pulled up at the water tower. He looked up. Sure enough, the message was written in bright yellow. While he waited for the town employee to come unlock the gate, he walked the fence line. Whomever had done it had to either climb the fence or cut his way through. He was halfway around when he saw the makeshift ladder made out of coaxial cord.  </p><p>Graffiti, or destruction of property, wasn’t a big deal to Dean. At least three times a year, the water company had to send a crew out to paint over the latest message. Mostly it was one of the college football team’s battle cries, and an occasional heart drawn by a lovesick kid. Profanity wasn’t usual and tended to upset the women of the Baptist Church.  </p><p>A white pickup pulled up beside him and Gordon Walker rolled down the window. Dean hated the city worker, but he did his job and that’s all that counted. “Well, <em> Deputy </em> Winchester, haven’t seen you around lately.” </p><p>“They came in here,” he said, pointing to the black cable ladder. “Not sure how they got out.” He scratched his head and looked around. “I just need to get in and take a paint sample.” </p><p>“You never catch these vandals. The mayor said we needed to recruit some law enforcement officers coming out of the academy. Not that you’re washed up or anything...” He let the sentence hang, wanting Dean to take the bait.  </p><p>“You going to unlock the gate sometime today?” The bastard rolled up his window and drove over to the entrance. Dean untied the cable ladder and tossed it into his backseat on his way over. With the gate finally unlocked, Dean steeled himself to climb the water tower. He wished Walker would go away. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his palms. <em> Great </em>, just fucking great. He’d slip and fall to his death right in front of the jackass.  </p><p>“That metal’s gonna be hot. Want a set of gloves?” Walker called out from his truck. <em> Now </em>, he’s being nice. What did the fucker want in return? Dean plastered on a smile and walked over to him. </p><p>“Thanks, buddy.” Dean took the worn leather gloves and turned to face his demon. One foot in front of the other. Don’t look down. Don’t look down,” he muttered over and over with each rung. Once he was on the platform, he took his pocket knife out and scrapped off a sample of the paint into a small, plastic bag. Walker was right. He never caught the assholes that did this shit.  </p><p>Seventy-eight rungs. He counted has he descended. When his foot touched the ground, he gave a huge sigh of relief. He’d live another day. Pasting on a composed face, he returned the gloves to Walker. “Thanks again for your help today, Gordon.” </p><p>“Not a problem, <em> Deputy </em>.” Walker saluted him with his forefinger and rolled up the window before driving off.  </p><p>Back at the station, he filled out the proper forms and put the sample into an envelope. Linda would mail it to the state forensic lab over in Montgomery for an analysis. They’d send him the name of the color and a list of distributors in the area. Using latex gloves, he examined the ladder. It was all coaxial cable that anyone could buy at one of the big-box hardware stores. He could probably get some fingerprints, but unless the kid had a record, it wouldn’t do him any good. He’d go over to the high school after lunch and see if he could locate <em> Jerome </em> with the small dick. Dean chuckled at his own joke. </p><p>Rufus had already left for the day. Noon was as long as he wanted to hang out. Afternoons would find him sitting in a chair at Singer’s Gas and Salvage playing checkers with Bobby.  </p><p>Dean sat at the desk he shared with Jody. He smiled fondly at the framed picture of him and Mandy. “So, saw a strange car parked at Missus Howell’s house. Her son in town?” He could rely on Linda for all the town gossip. </p><p>Linda looked up from her monitor. “Must be that writer from California. He works for some travel show. Donna told me he rented the Howell place on a month by month lease.” </p><p>“Hm, California, huh? Seems kind far to come for... what? A travel show?” </p><p>“I don’t think that’s why he’s here. His email to Donna said he was writing a book about his adventures traveling the globe.” </p><p>“Sounds like an asshat.” </p><p>“Probably." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> woke with a start, his hand going automatically to his gun on the nightstand. He paused, halfway off the bed. What was that... oh, just birds in trees. He set the gun back down and stretched, remembering he was in Bumfuck, </span>
  <span>Eygpt</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d decided to spend the day exploring the town and doing his grocery shopping. He would avoid people as much as possible. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A shower in a claw-foot tub was interesting. It made him miss his walk-in shower back in DC, but it was better than the field showers he’d had in Afghanistan on his last mission. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dressed, he headed out. The grocery store turned out to be something called the Piggly Wiggly. It was small, really small. He found some things that he needed, mainly some frozen meals, chips, cookies, and beer. The checker, who wore a nametag that read Becky, was almost as talkative as the realtor, but even more creepy. She’d asked his relationship status, and a few more personal questions. Was everyone in the South nosy? In DC, no one talked to you unless they had something valuable to say. Hell, he didn’t even know his neighbors’ names.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After the frozen meals were put away, he left the rest of the groceries on the kitchen table. He was hungry. He remembered passing a diner when he came through town the day before, so he headed there. He’d eat and then head over to the Falls he’d read about online the night before. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The diner was bright and clean. He stood at the door until someone took pity on him. “We don’t seat you here, Hon, you just sit were you want.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sat down at a back table facing the door and the woman who’d spoken to him came over with a laminated menu. She was a beautiful black woman, tall and slim. “Name’s Billie. What’ll you have to drink?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Just water,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> responded and glanced down at the menu. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You passing through?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked up. “Excuse me?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you just passing through?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. I’m here to work... on my book,” he added quickly. Being undercover as a terrorist or criminal was so much easier. The type of people he hung out with on a mission weren’t into </span>
  <span>small talk</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you...” She looked at him expectantly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“James... James Milton.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Milton? You kin to Pastor Michael?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no. I don’t believe so.” Who was this Pastor Michael? And why did she think he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>kin</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go get your water. Be right back.” She walked away and went behind the lunch counter. There was a larger man wearing a white apron and she said something to him, then both looked his way. The man was close to six feet, burly, and had the air of a street fighter. He thought about the comforting feel of the gun tucked into the back of his pants.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Billie set his water glass down and smiled. “Ready to order?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> hadn’t had time to read the menu. He had been busy observing the entry points and egress options, with a brief overview of the other diners. Most were middle-aged and would be easy to overthrow in a fight if warranted.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you suggest?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Benny, he’s the owner and cook, makes a daily Cajun special. Today, it’s gumbo. It’s good. We also have some sandwiches.” She pointed to the menu. “HIs burgers are to die for, but the country-fried steak is my favorite.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Country-fried steak</span>
  </em>
  <span>? No, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> needed to maintain his weight and physical condition.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a salad...” his eyes wandered over the page, not seeing anything resembling mixed greens.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We have a dinner salad, but it’s not on the lunch menu. I suppose Benny could whip you up something.” Her tone told him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>whipping up a salad</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t a good idea.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s fine. I’ll try the gumbo.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good choice.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The thick soup turned out to</span>
  <span> be </span>
  <span>good</span>
  <span> and</span>
  
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> left a nice t</span>
  <span>ip on the table. Stepping out on the sidewalk he looked both ways. Tucked into a small space was the town’s Chamber of Commerce. He headed there. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The older woman behind the desk looked over her reading glasses as he stepped inside. “Can I help you, Handsome?” He couldn’t help but smile. The woman could pass for his mother.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so. I’m staying in town temporarily and would like some information about the area.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve come to the right place. My name is Mildred Baker.” She stood and walked over to a bookcase. “We have several books about the area and a lot of brochures. These same books are at the library and you wouldn’t have to buy them if you got yourself a temporary card.” She picked up a few of the pamphlets. “Here you go, this will get you started.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought </span>
  <span>I’d</span>
  <span> drive over to the falls. Is it far?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord, no. You keep going east down Main Street. The road will veer to the left and you’ll see the high school. The falls are about a half mile after that. There are some great hiking trails there.” She pointed to a map on the wall and he stepped closer. “See.” He followed her finger as she traced the route.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for these,” he said holding up the brochures. “And for the directions.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She followed him to the door. “If you don’t mind my asking, where are you staying?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I am renting a house on Oak Street. I believe someone named Howell owns it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Gloria’s house. Well, that makes us neighbors. I’m in the yellow house next door to you.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Small world,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> mumbled, not knowing how to respond to that. Neighbors weren’t in his small set of social skills.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Small town,” she said, laughing softly. “What’s your name, son?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“James...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“See you around, Jimmy,” she said with a wave and shut the door.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing at the childlike nickname, he walked back to his car and followed Mildred’s directions. The falls were just as </span>
  <span>beautiful</span>
  <span> as the picture on the brochure. There was a marked hiking trail that promised you could go behind the waterfall and see carving left by soldiers of the Civil War in the caverns there. That would be for another day. He would need shorts and the proper footwear. His running shoes wouldn’t hold up climbing around rocky terrain, and the lace-up boots he wore in the desert weren’t suitable either.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He walked around the park surrounding the falls and snapped a few pictures on his phone. Near the water’s edge, he sat on a bench. When was the last time he’d had a vacation? Or just taken time for himself? Maybe a week or so wouldn’t be so bad.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That night</span>
  <span>, he </span>
  <span>ate</span>
  <span> a m</span>
  <span>icrowaved lasagna meal that tasted like cardboard, but it was sustenance. It beat </span>
  <span>Ghoulal</span>
  <span> cooked over a campfire served by an unwashed militant. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Without cable or Internet, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> didn’t know what to do with himself after he ate. A search on his phone showed no nightclubs or bars in a twenty-mile area. What the fuck did people in this dinky town do for fun?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As the sun descended in the sky, he stood on the front porch. It was quiet here. In DC, on his small balcony, he’d have heard traffic and sirens. He was interrupted from his musings by a shout from next door. “Hello,” the woman from the Chamber of Commerce yelled... what was her name?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mildred,” he called out and she walked over. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get to the falls?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, they were beautiful. I plan on going back after I buy some hiking boots.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to take a trip to Sikes and </span>
  <span>Kohns</span>
  <span> over in Montgomery. They have all kinds of boots.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span>? No, there would be no ‘we’. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, old woman, you bothering the new guy already?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked up to see a large man ambling across the street. He was ready to admonish the man about calling Mildred an old woman, but she was already on it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who you calling old, you overweight jackass? And I’m not bothering Jimmy. We’re friends.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy? Name’s Frank Devereaux. What are you doing here?” The man was in his yard now, still moving up toward the porch. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nosy bastard,” Mildred said in a loud stage whisper.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can it, </span>
  <span>you</span>
  <span> old bag.” He stopped at the base of the stairs, right next to Mildred. Would the two senior citizens come to blo</span>
  <span>w</span>
  <span>s?</span>
  
  <span>Castie</span>
  <span>l</span>
  <span> didn’t want to break up a fight, but if he had to...</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you move here, Jimmy? We don’t get many new folks coming in. Last one was... who, Frank?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean and his girl. Going on five years now.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” she said, then she walked up on the porch and sat in one of the rocking chairs. “Sit a spell, Jimmy.” Before he could respond, Frank came up and took another rocker. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Frank asked </span>
  <span>expectan</span>
  <span>tly</span>
  <span>?</span>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>, completely out of his element, stared at the two people taking up residence on his porch. “Well?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Name, rank, serial number, boy. Don’t stand there gawking like a simpleton.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred elbowed the man and grinned up at </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. “Don’t mind him. We just want to know </span>
  <span>about</span>
  <span> our new neighbor.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Name, rank, serial number</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Was Frank ex-military? “I’m a writer for The Travel Channel and currently, I’m writing a book about my adventures.” He quoted Victor’s dossier on James Novak. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Adventu</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>re</span>
  </em>
  
  <span>was one way of describing his life, just not the one he’d choose.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, how exciting,” Mildred said, leaning forward. “A writer, Frank, did you hear</span>
  <span> tha</span>
  <span>t?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m old, not deaf, Mildred,” Frank retorted. “Why here?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you move here?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> turned the tables on the man.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, huh, I grew up here. Joined up when I turned eighteen. Saw the world, then I came back from the Gulf War, like Milly here, and decided to get out while I had both my arms and legs. My mama and daddy owned that house,” he said, pointing across the road. “They left it to me when they passed.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A war veteran</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> would have to watch himself around him. “You were in the Gulf War, Mildred?” Probably a nurse, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> suspected.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Milly here was one of the first women pilots to fly for the Navy. She got her wings in 1974 and flew in the Gulf War.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I can speak for myself, Frank,” she said, then turned to </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. “I flew an F-4 Phantom. Saw too much, learned to hate sand, and came back to my hometown to live out my days. I grew up here too. Frank was a year behind me in school. Troublemaker then, worse now.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha,” Frank grunted and leaned back in the chair to rock. “You got any beer? In the South, we offer people a drink when they visit.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a visit? I don’t recall inviting anyone over.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said with a wink to Mildred. She guffawed, her rocker almost going over with the force of it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Boy, you’re going to fit in just fine. Now, get me a beer,” Frank said, a wry smile on his face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> nodded. “Mildred, you need anything?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Beer’s fine, unless it’s Budweiser. That shit gives me a headache.” </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> eyes widened at </span>
  <span>the</span>
  <span> vulgar word coming out of the older woman’s mouth. She caught the look. “I say the ‘F’ word when I’m riled, so don’t push me.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was still laughing when he brought three beers to the porch. It was after nine when Frank finally stood up and stretched. “Best </span>
  <span>be going home</span>
  <span>. Breakfast at Benny’s?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had been regaled with tales about the citizens of Coosa Falls and spent most of the evening laughing at his two new acquaintances. He stood up from his seat on the porch railing. “Benny’s?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Owen’s Diner. Benny Lafitte bought the place from Melvin Owen about fifteen years ago. He has the best burgers in town and don’t get me started about his caramel apple pie. We’ll see you there at seven.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She moved down the steps in a pace that surprised him. Frank threw up his hand in a wave and crossed the street. “I guess I’m going to Benny’s in the morning,” he told himself, shaking his head.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Using his phone, he sent an email to Victor at his handler’s dummy account.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>To: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Bigblackdick@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Bigblackdick78@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>From: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>Settled in. Cold AF here. How’s the weather in LA?</span>
  </b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In those short sentences, he’d told his handler that he arrived without incident, there was no sign of any trouble, and he asked about the leak at the agency. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have to arrange for Internet soon. Maybe after breakfast with Frank and Mildred. Surely, they had it here? He stopped in his tracks on the way back from the bathroom. Could he even get wi-fi</span>
  <span>?</span>
  <span> He’d ask Mildred in the morning.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was dreaming. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A hot desert wind blew over him. He stared through the scope and lined up his shot. The man stepped to the right and </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Castiel</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> followed the movement. He squeezed the trigger</span>
  </em>
  <span>... He sat bolt upright in the bed, his hand reaching for the gun. What had woken him? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There it was again. A sound he couldn’t identify. Something hit his face and he yelled, firing the gun at the target. Silence. He rolled quickly left and turned on the light. The room was empty. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of the old lavender sachet he’d found wrapped in the sheets. Carefully, he took a step and that’s when it came again, a fluttering sound. “Jesus Fucking Christ,” he yelled, not out of fear, but disgust. There was a </span>
  <span>giant </span>
  <span>roach</span>
  <span> on his bed and it had wings. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wings</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the desert, he’d fought off mosquitos the size of cars and</span>
  <span> spiders as big as a man’s hand, but a flying roach was just nasty. He picked up the Family Circle magazine left on the nightstand by Missus Howell and swatted it. He went to the bathroom and grabbed some toilet paper to remove the carcass, but the banging on his front door stopped him in his tracks. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He picked up the gun again and padded into the living room on bare feet, not turning on any lights. He peeked out of the window and saw a patrol car in his driveway. “Shit,” he whispered. He tucked the Ruger between the cushions of the couch, turned on the porch light to put them at a disadvantage, and took a breath before opening the door.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was covering for Jody while she was getting over a stomach virus. Rufus had come in for the afternoon so he could grab a nap before hitting the streets at nine. Coosa Falls was a quiet town and the usual protocol for night shift was to drive around for an hour or so, then go into the office to answer phones, help with dispatch, and do busywork until midnight, when the whole process started again. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was settled back in his chair, munching on a bag</span>
  <span> of </span>
  <span>gummy bears</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> and p</span>
  <span>laying solitaire when the call came in. Mitch, the high school dropout that worked as their nightshift dispatcher, called out to him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Dean, we’ve had a shot fire over on Oak Street. </span>
  <span>Dr. Adler</span>
  <span>, 207 Oak called it in. Said he heard it loud and clear. Woke him from a sound sleep.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit. Probably some kids with firecrackers,” Dean said, standing and stretching. The nap hadn’t really helped get him ready for a sleepless night. “I’ll go see him.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean pulled the cruiser up to the curb and put it in park. He dreaded this. Zachariah Alder was the local bank president and a real dick. When Dean knocked on his door, the man was in a blue velvet robe with matching slippers. Missus Alder, one of the ladies of the Baptist Church was behind him, rollers in her hair. “</span>
  <span>Dr. Adler</span>
  <span>, we got your call about the gun shot. Can you tell me when this happened?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about time you got here. No telling what is going on. The whole world is Godless these days.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Amen,” his wife said softly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean waited and Alder finally answered the question. “It was just after one. I think it came from the house next door. I heard an illegal immigrant moved in. You mark my </span>
  <span>words</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> they’re going to kill us all in our sleep.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I seriously doubt your new neighbor is going to kill you in your sleep, </span>
  <span>Dr. Adler</span>
  <span>, but I will check it out.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure you do.” The door was slammed in his face, but he felt the creepy man’s eyes on him as he walked across the lawn and up to the steps of the house next door.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked, waited a few moments, and knocked louder, after all, it was the middle of the night. He was probably waking someone up for nothing. He plastered on his most charming smile and then the porch light came on, temporarily blinding him before the door opened.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stared. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Skin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Miles and miles of bare skin. Tanned, smooth skin, covering a muscular, but not gym-rat body. Dean swallowed, his eyes straying down to the bright orange boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>nothing.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you, Officer?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Deputy,” Dean automatically corrected, his eyes still on the outline of a nice sized cock. Impressive soft, no telling what it was like hard.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deputy</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” The low, husky voice brought him out of fantasyland and his gaze shot upward. Damn, that face. A dark stubble covered the man’s jawline, but it was his eyes that caught Dean’s attention. Even in the shadow of the doorway, he could see they were blue or gray and right now, they were narrowed and not overly friendly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, but one of your neighbors heard a gunshot. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Dean straightened his shoulders and tried to be a professional, hoping the man hadn’t noticed he was drooling over his </span>
  <span>attributes</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. That.” Dean’s eyebrows went up at the almost admission of guilt. “Is it illegal to shoot a firearm in your own home in Alabama? I thought the South was all for the Second Amendment.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it’s illegal, but it did bother one of your...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the neighbors.” He looked behind Dean and the deputy swore when he saw Frank and Mildred, both in bathrobes and slippers standing in the front lawn behind him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy? Are you okay? I heard a gunshot. Who called the cops?” Mildred was saying as she moved closer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jimmy</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Dean noticed she was immune to the dude’s orange covered junk either.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, who called the </span>
  <span>po </span>
  <span>po</span>
  <span>?”</span>
  <span> Frank asked, shuffling closer.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank, seriously, no one calls us the</span>
  
  <span>po </span>
  <span>po</span>
  <span> anymore,” Dean said, feeling the entire situation getting out of hand. “I’m not saying who called us. I’m just here to investigate a reported gunshot.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I shot a bug.” Three sets of eyes shot up to look at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jimmy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The man had the good grace to look abashed. “In my defense, it was very large.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“A bug?” Dean couldn’t believe his ears. “You pulled a gun on a bug?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It flew at me,” the man said, his voice dry and monotone. Dean could not help it, he laughed. Threw back his head and roared. When he finally pulled himself together enough to at least pretend to be an officer of the law, he noticed the corner of the guy’s mouth. Was he fighting a smile?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, huh? Jimmy who?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s actually James. James Milton. Mildred has foisted the juvenile nickname on me and I can’t seem to shake her of it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“James is too stuffy. You’re a hot man, not some old fart. Maybe I’ll call you Jim,” Mildred chimed in, her gaze drifting down Milton’s body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t blame her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought Dean.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She has a point,” Dean said with a shrug.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And which point is that, Deputy? That I’m a hot man or that I’m not an old fart?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean met his eyes and smiled. “I’m going to plead the fifth on that one. I’m going to let you off with a warning though, no shooting bug</span>
  <span>s </span>
  <span>in the </span>
  <span>city</span>
  <span> limits.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best.” He cocked his head to the side and Dean thought it was the most </span>
  <span>ador</span>
  <span>... “Should I call my local sheriff’s department if I’m accosted by a large, flying insect again?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. I’m here to protect and serve.” Dean saluted him with two fingers and turned toward his cruiser. “Mildred, Frank, keep him out of trouble.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the wheel, he looked back at the porch. Mildred and Frank, two of the town’s unsung heroes of the Gulf War, were standing with Jimmy... Jim... James. They were </span>
  <span>all</span>
  
  <span>looking</span>
  <span> his way. He started the car and drove back to the station. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Rufus got in at eight to relieve him and Dean took the time to go next door and see his brother. “Mandy coming in today?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She is. I’m putting her to </span>
  <span>work </span>
  <span>archiving</span>
  
  <span>some old files, then I’m sending her to the library to do some research for me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Awesome. I’m heading home for a long overdue nap. The Mayor and town council need to cough </span>
  <span>up  the</span>
  <span> money for another deputy. With Jody out, I’m getting run ragged, man.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The town isn’t that bad, Dean. What calls did you get overnight? Huh, a raccoon in someone’s trash?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, smartass. I had a ‘sho</span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span>s</span>
  
  <span>fired’</span>
  <span> incident.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Seriously? Fuck you, Dean, why didn’t you call me? That’s news.” He got out a legal pad. “Tell me what happened?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a false alarm. Sort of.” Dean took a handful of </span>
  <span>gourmet</span>
  <span> jelly beans out of the bowl on Sam’s desk and tossed a few in his mouth. “And technically, it was only the one shot.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean...” Sam was losing patience. He always did when he smelled a story.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy, cool your jets, it wasn’t newsworthy. The new guy, that travel writer, shot one of those nasty palmetto bugs.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean the flying roaches?” He asked and then paused. “Wait, he shot one? Isn’t that overkill?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently, it flew in his face.” Dean was grinning. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And he shot it?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he shot at it,” Dean answered. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s he like... other than trigger-happy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s... I don’t know... yay tall,” Dean said, using his hand to measure James’ height. “Blue eyes, maybe gray, hard to tell in the porch light, and built like a brick shithouse.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sam smirked. “Sounds like someone has a crush.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you. I do not. I’m a cop. I was just being observant.” Dean felt his face grow warm and he stood. “I’m heading home to sleep. Tell Mandy that I’ll pick her up after work and we’ll eat at Benny’s for dinner. Date night.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Date night? With your kid? Someone needs a social life,” Sam said, eying Dean critically. “When was your last date? Lisa? Jo?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it was Lisa.” Dean dated the high school teacher for all of two weeks. He ended it because she got too clingy and it made things weird with Mandy being her student. Jo, well, Jo was a different story. He liked the young woman. Young being the operative word. She was twelve years his junior. It made him feel like a dirty old man when he kissed her goodnight that one and only time. Nope, Coosa Falls’ dating pool was on the shallow side.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should see if the new guy bats for your team.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam, I bat for both teams.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, there is that. Well, you can still see if he’d be interested in an old single father who spends his off tim</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span> polishing his car.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, she’s a classic. And I don’t spend all my off time doing that. I’m raising a kid. I even went on a vacation.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sam sighed. “Yep, you live an exciting life.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going home now, asshat,” Dean made his way through the </span>
  <span>cluttered</span>
  <span> office and waved his goodbye at the door.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mandy was eating a Poptart when he let himself into the house. “Hey, kiddo. Any issues last night?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kidding, right? You had Miss Moseley spend the night. Jeez, Dad, I’m fourteen. I can stay by myself.” She huffed in the universal teenaged daughter way and flopped down on one of the kitchen stools.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Not overnight, Amanda,” Dean replied, purposefully using her full name. “I told you we’d address it again on your birthday.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not for six months,” she whined.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Have fun at work, Sweetheart. Your old man needs to sleep.” He kissed the top of her head and headed for his bedroom. A few minutes later, he heard the front door close and knew she was riding her bike to her Uncle Sam’s office. She really was a good kid. He owed Missouri a pie, or some cookies. Maybe on his next afternoon off. He closed his eyes and drifted off. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His alarm woke him at four and he took a quick shower and put on a fresh uniform. On his way to the station, he called Jody to check on her. She was feeling better and promised to be back on her shift the next afternoon. After asking if she needed him to bring her anything, he headed for the </span>
  <span>Sheriff’s</span>
  <span> Office. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Linda was gathering her things and waved goodbye as she headed out for the night. Rufus was sleeping at his desk. His snoring rattled the panes of glass that separated his office from the rest of the station. “Hey, wake up and go home.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? What?” Rufus sat up and wiped the drool from his mouth. “Just resting my eyes.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Well, go rest them at home.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once the sheriff was gone, Dean went over the list of calls, complaints, and traffic citations. He’d logged in Alder’s incident before he left to go home, so it was at the top of the screen. There was a stray dog near the elementary school and a highway patrolman had gi</span>
  <span>ven </span>
  <span>a</span>
  <span> ticket to </span>
  <span>one of their high school seniors</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> but other than that, it was a typical quiet day in Coosa Falls.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He clipped his radio onto his utility belt, picked up the keys to the cruiser, and locked up. Dispatch for the afternoon hours were routed through the highway patrol office in Auburn until Mitch came on at nine. Dean pushed his way into the newspaper office. “Stop the presses.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, that never gets old,” Sam said dryly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked around. “Where’s Mandy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Library. She was working on some research for me. I thought she’d be back by now,” Sam said, looking at his watch.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call her.” Dean’s thumb landed on his daughter’s avatar. She picked up on the second ring.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, I can’t talk right now. There’s a fight at the library. That Lilith woman is getting her ass handed to her by some guy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Language,” Dean said and then his daughter’s words clicked. “A fight? Shit. </span>
  <span>I’m on</span>
  <span> my way.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fight? What’s going on?” Sam asked, already gathering his messenger bag.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those of you who have never been in the Southern states or the topics, we have large flying bugs (see picture). Some call them roaches, but they aren't. I grew up calling them Palmetto bugs. They enter your home when it is damp outside. They are hideous creatures and will fly at you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains violence (a murder). It also contains racial and homophobic slurs. </p><p>In the South, there are lots of religious zealots. I picked the Baptist Church, not because I have anything against them, but I will be using their evil counterparts (Westboro) as my interpretation of this particular church. Not all church-goers are hypocrites, not all Muslims are terrorists, and very, very few homosexuals are pedophiles. </p><p>This story is supposed to be a fun romp through the South I grew up in. Small towns have their drawbacks, but they also have some of the best people. Just wanted to say that I'm not trying to insult, just poke fun at.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hindsight is twenty-twenty, or so the saying goes, and in retrospect, Castiel should have taken the time to put on some clothes. He wasn’t prepared to greet an Adonis at his front door in Po-dunk, Alabama. He wasn’t a sucker for a uniform, not in his line of work, but damn, the man sure could fill one out in all the right places. </p><p><br/>
It was the laugh though, the deep belly laugh that churned up Castiel’s insides. God, he must be missing Mick, or sex in general, because that body, that face, and that unabashed laugh did something to him.  </p><p><br/>
As the deputy walked back to his car, Castiel sighed. The man’s ass was perfection, but those bowed legs made him human with flaws and that was Castiel’s weakness. “Dean’s a pretty one, isn’t he?” Mildred said, her gaze going from Winchester’s backside to Castiel’s mainly unclad body. “Then again, Jimmy, God took his time with you, hon.” </p><p><br/>
“Quit ogling the man, Milly. We don’t like being objectified any more than women do,” Frank muttered, tightening the cinch on his bathrobe. </p><p><br/>
“We? No one’s objectified you since a man landed on the moon. Showing appreciation for a man’s body is a compliment, right, Jimmy?” </p><p><br/>
“I should get back inside before another neighbor complains about public indecency or disturbing the peace,” Castiel said, side-stepping Mildred’s comment. </p><p><br/>
“We’re still on for breakfast, hon. See you at seven,” Mildred said over her shoulder as she and Frank went down the porch steps. </p><p><br/>
“Seven? It’s...” Damn, they moved fast for older people, thought Castiel. So much for pushing back the time. Yawning, he locked the door behind him and trudged down the hall to his bedroom. He picked up the tissue where he’d dropped it and made sure the giant bug was flushed down the toilet. It only took a few minutes for him to fall back asleep. <br/>
Six came too early and the old coffeemaker in the kitchen wasn’t the fastest. By the time he had his first cup, he was growling like an angry bear. He drank it down, burning his tongue. He’d had worse, but he’d literally kill for the real deal.  </p><p><br/>
He decided to walk to the diner and was met by both of his companions on the sidewalk.  </p><p><br/>
“I’d lay odds that it was that bastard Adler that called,” Frank was saying. </p><p><br/>
“Adler?”  </p><p><br/>
“White house to your right. He’s the town doctor, but I’ll drive to Auburn or Montgomery before I let that man touch me,” Mildred said with a huff. “He’s one of the deacons at the Baptist Church too. Him and Pastor Milton are thick as thieves.” </p><p><br/>
“Ah, Milton. I was asked if I was related,” Castiel replied, shortening his stride to their pace. </p><p><br/>
“Good God, I would hope not. Milton is batshit crazy. He’s one of those fire and brimstone pastors and hates anyone that isn’t white, straight, and well-to-do,” Mildred informed him. </p><p><br/>
The diner was crowded, but apparently Mildred and Frank had long-standing reservations at a table by the window. It wasn’t the safest place to sit, but Castiel did manage to keep his back to one wall. He let his new acquaintances do all the talking, answering when a question was directed at him. Keeping quiet was the way to glean information from both friends and foes.  </p><p><br/>
He ate a hardy breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hash browns with a side of pancakes. Mildred, he noted, just had coffee and toast, while Frank had a western omelet. “Damn blood pressure,” Frank muttered when it was set in front of him.</p><p> <br/>
“What are your plans today, Jimmy?” Mildred asked after she’d finished her toast. </p><p><br/>
“I need to see about getting Internet and I thought I’d check out the library for some local history.”</p><p> <br/>
“There’s only one cable provider in the area,” Frank said around a bite of omelet. He rattled off the name of the company and Castiel made a mental note of it. </p><p><br/>
The rest of his morning was spent on the phone with said provider and an appointment was made for the following week. In DC, they would have been able to install within twenty-four hours. So much for small town living. Thankfully, he wasn’t paying for his data usage. After he’d hung up with them, he checked his email. </p><p><br/>
To: Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com <br/>
From: Bigblackdick78@gmail.com </p><p><br/>
Things are still hot in LA. No word on the water situation. Be good. </p><p><br/>
Castiel frowned. The price on his head was still there and Henriksen was no closer to finding out who the leak was. While he was putting together a sandwich for lunch, he racked his brains, but didn’t have a clue who could be selling information. He trusted the agency, but someone was out to get him. </p><p><br/>
He knew he’d have to head over to one of the bigger towns to find the Wally World Mildred told him about. Supposedly, it was a large store that sold everything from groceries to car batteries. She’d wanted to come with him, and they’d made plans to go in the morning. He was sure Frank would want to tag along. The two of them reminded him of his parents. </p><p><br/>
Walking to the library was exercise, but he’d have to get back into running soon, especially after breakfasts like he’d had at the diner.  </p><p><br/>
The air conditioner felt great after the short, but humid walk. Castiel took a moment to look around. It was small but laid out to utilize the limited space. He hadn’t had a lot of time to update himself on news in the US, so he picked up Time, Newsweek, and a newspaper called the Opelika-Auburn News. He found a seat at a table where a teenage girl was sitting, reading a thick book. “Do you mind if I sit here?” </p><p><br/>
She looked up. Green eyes stared back at him. “Yeah, sure... I mean no. I don’t mind.” </p><p><br/>
He gave her a smile and settled down to catch up on the news. He was reading an article about Pete Buttigieg, when he caught a whiff of cloying perfume. A manicured hand pointed to the picture of the presidential candidate. “He doesn’t stand a chance.” A female body was pressed against his side and he looked up. The woman was striking, slim and blonde.  </p><p><br/>
“Why?” Castiel knew better than engage in a stranger about politics, especially someone in the South, but the previous night’s lack of sleep was catching up with him. He was grumpy without enough shuteye.</p><p> <br/>
“He’s queer,” she sneered. “And one of those baby-killing libtards.” </p><p><br/>
A voice in Castiel’s head was telling him to keep cool and ignore the bitch, but the look on the teenager’s face across the table made him throw caution to the wind. “Your first mistake was assuming that everyone else is as stupid and narrow-minded as you. His sexual orientation has nothing to do with his ability to make a fine president,” he said, getting to his feet to face his opponent halfway through his retort. “And as for baby-killing, unless you have been in their shoes, fuck you. Their choice for their bodies is their business.” </p><p><br/>
Castiel was aware of a phone ringing and he heard the teenager’s hushed whisper behind him. “Daddy, I can’t talk right now. There’s a fight at the library. That Lilith woman is getting her ass handed to her by some guy.” </p><p><br/>
“I might have known.” She drew herself up to full height which was still several inches shorter than Castiel. She sneered up at him. “I heard an illegal immigrant had moved in, some Muslim. Funny, I didn’t think I’d run into him at the library. Can you even read?” The way she said the word Muslim, like a slur, pissed him off. </p><p><br/>
“I graduated from Boston College Summa Cum Laude. That translates to I’m fucking smart to someone like you.” Crap. Crap. Crap. He’d just blown his cover story. “And for the record, I am an American citizen.” He was in her face and normally Castiel would have taken a man down for being threatening toward any woman, but this one had pushed all the right buttons. Christ, he didn’t even look Middle Eastern. </p><p><br/>
People had begun to gather including a tall man with a notepad. Through the glass windows at the front of the library, Castiel saw familiar blue and red lights. Fuck. “Why don’t you crawl back under the rock you most obviously live under...” He was interrupted by that same deputy pushing open the door of the library. Dean Winchester. Well, shit. </p><p><br/>
She saw the deputy at the same time and turned on the fake tears. “Oh, deputy, thank God you’re here. This man has insulted me and threatened me...” </p><p><br/>
“Threatened you? Are you kidding me? Honey, you aren’t worth my time,” Castiel bit out. </p><p><br/>
“Hold up, both of you,” the deputy said, taking a step between them.</p><p> <br/>
“He’s an illegal,” she said in a harsh stage whisper, like her and the deputy were sharing a secret. </p><p><br/>
Castiel rolled his eyes. “And she’s a bitch,” he responded, getting a gasp out of her.  </p><p><br/>
“Ain’t that the truth,” muttered a woman standing behind the romance section.</p><p> <br/>
“Pretty much,” the teenager added to the conversation. Castiel saw others nodding their assent.</p><p> <br/>
The deputy raised both of his hands. “Alright, shut up, everyone.” The entire library went still. Castiel glared at the woman who’d single-handedly ruined his entire day. “You sit,” he said, pointing to the woman. “And you, outside.” </p><p><br/>
He followed the deputy out the door and when he stopped at the bike rack, he turned to Castiel. “We gotta stop meeting like this, dude. Does trouble just follow you around?” </p><p><br/>
“She...” Castiel stopped, took a deep breath, and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. </p><p><br/>
“Daddy, Lilith started it. He was minding his own business and she slithered up to him like the skank she is...”</p><p> <br/>
“Amanda Winchester, this is sheriff’s office business.”</p><p> <br/>
“I’m a witness, Daddy. And like I was saying, she touched him without consent, then started her nonsense, like she’s all goody-two-shoes. Everyone knows she’s boinked just about every man...” </p><p><br/>
“Amanda Marie Winchester, enough.” Castiel watched the byplay between the two with interest. She lifted her chin and Castiel saw the family resemblance. The deputy had his hands full with that one. He smirked and that got him a glare from Winchester. “Go get your stuff and get over to Uncle Sam’s. I’ll pick you up there.” She flounced her long, blonde hair and stomped off, disappearing into the library. </p><p><br/>
“Your witness was telling the truth. I was minding my own business...” The other man raised his hand and Castiel stopped talking. </p><p><br/>
“Look, Lilith Carrigan is... she isn’t the most pleasant person unless you have something to offer her. To keep the peace though, I need to see some form of ID.” </p><p><br/>
Castiel took out his wallet and gave the deputy James Milton’s driver’s license. He waited while the deputy looked it over and couldn’t resist. “See, not illegal.” He prayed that Winchester wouldn’t feel the need to run a check on him. The agency would cover any and all inquiries, but he would get his ass chewed out by Cain for putting himself on the law enforcement radar.   </p><p><br/>
“Yeah, I figured as much. Look, I don’t know how long you plan on being here, but you might want to keep a low profile. People like her...” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Let’s just say we have some good people here in Coosa Falls and some that... think their beliefs override everyone else’s.”</p><p> <br/>
“I came here to write and to be left alone. She was the one that approached me, Deputy Winchester.” </p><p><br/>
“I get that. And I’m sorry. Just know that not all the citizens of this town are like her.” The deputy’s daughter picked that time to come back out, a backpack slung over one shoulder. She unchained a bike and rolled it toward them. </p><p><br/>
“Mr. Milton, this is my daughter, Mandy. Mandy, this is Mr. Milton. He’s in town to write...” He looked at Castiel for clarification. </p><p><br/>
“I’m writing a travel book about my adventures.” Every time he repeated that, it sounded more ridiculous. </p><p><br/>
“That’s pretty cool,” she said, suddenly shy and not at all like the girl who stood up for him earlier. She mounted the bike. “See you late, Dad.” They both watched her ride off. </p><p><br/>
“She seems like a good girl,” Castiel said, for lack of anything better. He wasn’t used to discussing personal details with strangers.</p><p> <br/>
“Yeah, Mandy’s a great kid. She damn sure keeps me on my toes.” He laughed softly and Castiel remembered the laugh from last night. He really was an attractive man. A straight, probably married, attractive man. </p><p>
  
</p><p><br/>
It took Dean all of two minutes to get to the library from the newspaper office, and Sam was hot on his heels. They arrived at the same time since Sam’s long legs allowed him to run the short distance and Dean had to get to his cruiser and drive the half block. Sam made it inside before him because parking was a bitch. He was a reporter with a mission and Dean knew nothing would stand in Sam’s way of a story. </p><p><br/>
Inside the library, he quickly assessed the situation. The new man in town and Lilith Carrigan were in a heated argument, but he didn’t see any sign of an actual fight. His gaze took in his daughter, who was currently standing behind ‘sexy orange boxer guy’, and his brother, ready and waiting with his notepad for a story. </p><p><br/>
“Oh, deputy, thank God you’re here. This man has insulted me and threatened me...” Lilith turned on the waterworks and Dean refrained from rolling his eyes. He didn’t know her well, but he knew enough. She’d been one of the mean girls in high school, came from a rich family, and was a beauty pageant winner. Miss Lee County or some nonsense. Last he heard, she’d gone to Atlanta to try her hand at an acting career.  </p><p><br/>
“Threatened you? Are you kidding me? Honey, you aren’t worth my time.” Dean had to hand it to Milton, he wasn’t backing down.  </p><p><br/>
Taking a deep breath, Dean stepped between the two and held up his hands. “Hold up, both of you.” </p><p><br/>
“He’s an illegal,” she hissed at Dean like he was her co-conspirator.  </p><p><br/>
“And she’s a bitch,” Milton said, and a collective gasp was heard before the peanut gallery started chiming in, including his own kid.</p><p> <br/>
Dean managed to get everyone calmed down and separated the two parties. He left Lilith inside the library to cool her heels, while he took Milton outside. He tried to keep it professional, even asking for the man’s ID. He gave it a scan, noting the guy’s vital statistics, then handing it back. In the light of day, those eyes were bluer than blue. He was well on his way of turning on the charm when Mandy made her appearance and showed Milton how bad of a father he really was. Skank... boinked... Jesus H. Christ. </p><p><br/>
“She seems like a good girl,” Milton said as they both watch his daughter ride off toward Sammy’s office.  </p><p><br/>
“Yeah, Mandy’s a great kid. She damn sure keeps me on my toes.” Dean watched as a smile transformed the handsome face in front of him and he forgot how to breathe. A voice in his head kept telling him to look away before Milton thought he was a perv. That other one, the devil or angel, he didn’t know which, was telling him to see if those lips tasted as good as they looked. </p><p><br/>
“You should probably go back inside to interrogate that... that... woman.” Dean laughed. He knew the word Milton wanted to use and it sure wasn’t woman. </p><p><br/>
“Yeah, and look, Milton, keep your nose clean. I don’t want to have to handcuff you...” Dean’s face burned when Milton smirked at him. He hadn’t meant it to sound that way. </p><p><br/>
“While bondage is something I personally enjoy, I’d need to get to know you better first, Deputy Winchester.” Then the motherfucker touched his forehead with his forefinger in a brief salute and sauntered down the sidewalk.  </p><p><br/>
Dean sputtered and couldn’t think of a comeback until the man was too far away to hear him. “Yeah, well I need to get to... yeah, you know what... whatever.”  </p><p><br/>
As he turned to go back to the library, he saw Sam leaning against the building. “We’ve got to teach Mandy the difference between a heated discussion and a fight. I was hoping for something exciting,” he said as Dean stepped closer. “So, get this, Lilith thinks the new guy is some sort of illegal Muslim immigrant. What do you know about him?”</p><p> <br/>
“You actually listen to anything Lilith Carrigan says?” Dean asked, his hand on the door. “When did she get back in town anyway? Last I heard, she was in Atlanta trying to become famous.”</p><p> <br/>
“She made a genital herpes commercial, dated some rich, old guy, and now, she’s home to sponge off her parents. That’s all I know.” </p><p><br/>
“Genital herpes?” Dean laughed. “Bet her parents loved that.” Madge and Edward Carrigan were part of the small town’s rich set. They all attended the Baptist Church and the men golfed at the Robert Trent Jones Golf Course in Opelika. The church ladies gathered to judge those less fortunate of tea and cookies.</p><p> <br/>
Sam shared his laugh and then straightened. “I need to get back to the office. Maybe I’ll interview the new guy soon. Having a writer in town could be an interesting fluff piece.” </p><p><br/>
“Sammy, it’s Coosa Falls, man. All your pieces are fluffy,” Dean said with another laugh. </p><p><br/>
“Jerk.”</p><p> <br/>
“Bitch. And speaking of bitches, let me go interview Lilith.” He waved to his brother and stepped into the cool library. Lilith was tapping her long fingernails on the table, a look of boredom on her face.</p><p> <br/>
“About time, Deputy. I do have other things to do, you know.”</p><p> <br/>
“Sorry about that, Miss Carrigan.” Dean sat across from her and clasped his hands together. “I interviewed Mr. Milton, now, let me hear your side of the story.”</p><p> <br/>
“Milton?” A look of horror crossed her face. “Is he related to Pastor Milton?” She asked, then answered herself. “No, surely not, he’s one of those Democrats. Or maybe even a Communist.” She said the words with a sneer.  </p><p><br/>
“I’m not sure if he’s related or not, Miss Carrigan. If you could tell me your side of the story...” She smiled guilelessly at him. “It’s Lilith,” she purred and then proceeded to talk and Dean tuned her out, nodding and making the right noises at the right spots. </p><p><br/>
“Thank you for your time, Miss... Lilith,” Dean stood and adjusted his utility belt.</p><p> <br/>
“Will you be arresting him?” She stood as well and moved closer to him. He could smell her sickening sweet perfume. </p><p><br/>
“No, arguments over politics aren’t illegal or else everyone on social media would be crowding our jails,” he said with a smile. “I gave him a verbal warning,” he lied. </p><p><br/>
Later that night, after dinner at Benny’s place, Mandy was in her room blasting some pop music and Dean was kicked back in his recliner watching another episode of Chopped on Food Network. His mind wandered to Milton. James Milton. He was sexy as fuck, no denying it. “Shit, maybe I do need to get out more,” he mumbled before calling it a night. <br/>
He was just about asleep when his phone rang. “’lo?” </p><p><br/>
“Dean, it’s Jody. We have a murder.”</p><p> <br/>
Dean sat straight up in bed. “What? Are you sure? Who?” Nothing ever happened in Coosa Falls. The last fatality that wasn’t natural causes was when a kid jumped from the falls and broke every bone in his body.  </p><p><br/>
“It’s Lilith Carrigan. Her parents came home from Gulf Shores to find her.” </p><p><br/>
“You call Rufus?”</p><p> <br/>
“He said you’re in charge,” she answered. </p><p><br/>
“Be right there.” Dean hung up, dressed hurriedly in jeans and a clean uniform shirt. He grabbed his utility belt, checked to make sure his gun was where it was supposed to be and headed down the hall. He opened Mandy’s door. She was curled up under her zebra print comforter. He went to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “Baby girl?” </p><p><br/>
She blinked her eyes open and squinted up at him. “What’s going on?” </p><p><br/>
“I have to go out on a call. I’m locking the door behind me. Not sure when I’ll be home.”</p><p> <br/>
“Okay, Dad. What happened?”</p><p> <br/>
“Not sure,” he said, not wanting to alarm her. He kissed her forehead, made sure the door was locked behind him, and drove to the Carrigan house, lights flashing and siren wailing.  </p><p><br/>

</p><p><br/>
He watched her through the window. The slut. She’d tempted him. Made him lose control by flaunting her body. Enticing him. She’d been sixteen, always rubbing her breasts against him when they were alone. He was a sinner, taking what the nubile young woman offered. She’d done things. Things his wife wouldn’t allow. Dirty things. His secret had been safe after she’d left town, but she came back. She came back and wanted money to keep her nasty mouth shut.  </p><p><br/>
The door wasn’t locked, and he stepped inside, his footsteps muffled by the carpet, watching her dance in the living room. Dressed in that... that lingerie. Black, like her soul. He had the money in an envelope. God, he wanted to put an end to this nightmare. He took a step forward and saw her father’s Confederate sword mounted on the wall. The Devil was working inside of him. He licked his dry lips and moaned as he took it off its mounting pegs.  </p><p><br/>
She turned then, seeing him standing there. “Oh, it’s you. Do you have it?” Her sneering face made the decision easier. Her hand reached to cup her breasts. “You had your fun, now you need to pay, Sugar,” she said, laughing up at him.</p><p> <br/>
The look on her face made him smile. The shock as blood pumped from her body. The Lamb of God, blood of Jesus Christ, take away my sins. The warm fluid spilled to the floor and she crumpled. He pulled out the sword and only then did the ramifications hit him. He stared at her body, still, mocking eyes open in death. Taking the envelope and the sword, he went to the kitchen and got a towel. Madge kept a clean house. He wiped his prints off the doorknob and stepped out into the backyard. He needed to think.</p><p> <br/>
</p><p><br/>
Dean pulled up beside Jody’s cruiser and the county coroner’s van. There was an ambulance in the driveway and Madge Carrigan was sitting on the gurney with an oxygen mask on her face, her husband beside her looking stoic. Dean met Jody at the door. </p><p><br/>
“She was stabbed. Obviously, killed here. Parents got back to town at approximately twelve-fifteen from a trip to Gulf Shores. The lights were on and music was playing, so they assumed Lilith was still up. They went inside and found her.” Jody motioned for him to go inside. He stepped through the small foyer and into the carpeted living room.  </p><p><br/>
Lilith was on her back, a pool of blood soaking the light tan carpet, her eyes stared at the ceiling. The wound, from what Dean could tell, was mid-torso. “Any sign of forced entry?” </p><p><br/>
“No,” Jody answered. “The back door was unlocked, but Mr. Carrigan said that wasn’t unusual.” </p><p><br/>
Dean walked down the hall to the kitchen and studied the back door. “We’re going to need the state forensic team to collect evidence. Since you didn’t mention it, guess you didn’t find the murder weapon.” </p><p><br/>
“No, and I’ve already called them,” Jody replied. “They should be here soon.”</p><p> <br/>
He walked back to the living room and surveyed the scene. “You said music was playing? Who turned it off?” </p><p><br/>
“I did,” she said, holding up a latex glove. “The oldies channel out of Montgomery.” Dean nodded, knowing it was probably irrelevant, but needed to check all the boxes. </p><p><br/>
By two o’clock, Madge and Edward Carrigan had been swept away by members of their church. The body had been sent to the state’s forensic lab in Montgomery and their team had gone over the entire house. All the evidence had been bagged and tagged. Dean was the one to notice the empty rack on the wall. When he called to ask Carrigan about it, the man said it held his civil war saber passed down through his family. The man had assumed it had been stolen in the ‘robbery’, but Dean knew it was probably the murder weapon. He’d know more after the autopsy. </p><p><br/>
Dean walked the perimeter of the backyard hoping to find a random footprint or something, but good ole Ed was a stickler for a good lawn and the grass grew too thick to show signs of recent activity. </p><p><br/>
He made sure the crime scene tape was secure and after getting into his cruiser, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Lilith didn’t have any friends in town. Those that knew her in high school hated her, but enough to kill her? Seemed like a stretch. Why had she really come home? Where was the murder weapon? It wasn’t premeditated because they’d stolen the sword once they got there. Or was it someone who knew about the damn thing? He rubbed the bridge of his nose, blew out a breath, and started the car. It was going to be a long day. </p><p><br/>
He needed to get to the station, but first, he needed to head home and take a shower and change into his uniform. Mandy was still asleep, but he knew she’d be up by nine to go help out her Uncle Sammy at the newspaper office. He scribbled a note and set it on the kitchen table by a box of Poptarts, cherry, her favorite. </p><p><br/>
Jody was at the station, as was Rufus, and they had an impromptu meeting. Dean went over the evidence they had so far, while Jody told them about her conversation with the Carrigans. Linda came in at eight and made coffee, while they gave her the abridged version of events.</p><p> <br/>
“She always thought she was a diva,” Linda said after hearing the story. “What bothers me most is someone from our town did this.  We could be standing next to a killer at the Piggly Wiggly.” </p><p><br/>
“We don’t know it’s someone from town,” Dean said, his feet propped up on his desk while he sipped a cup of the fresh coffee. They were quiet for a moment, each in their own thoughts, when the door opened and Sam came in. </p><p><br/>
“I just heard. It’s all over town.” His gaze landed on Dean. “What is the point of having a brother who’s in law enforcement if he doesn’t tell me important things.” </p><p><br/>
“Here’s your headline, Sam. Big breasted beauty queen stabbed to death by Civil War sword.” Dean sat up and his boots hit the floor with a thump. “Don’t you dare report about the murder weapon. Not yet, anyway.” </p><p><br/>
Sam leaned his hip against Dean’s desk. “So... how do you know it was a sword?”</p><p> <br/>
“We don’t. Yet. One was missing from the house. It could be a coincidence or random theft,” Dean stated.</p><p> <br/>
“But you don’t believe that,” Sam surmised. </p><p><br/>
“Nope.” </p><p><br/>
“Crime of passion?” Sam asked.</p><p> <br/>
“Maybe. She was wearing some sort of slinky, little thing and her parents weren’t home,” Dean said, thinking of that angle. A lover?</p><p> <br/>
“A baby doll,” Jody piped up. All eyes turned to her quizzically. “The outfit she was wearing, it’s called a baby doll.” </p><p><br/>
“That’s oddly disturbing,” Sam said, scrunching up his nose. </p><p><br/>
“Hey, I don’t make this stuff up. I wear a t-shirt and panties,” Jody said with a shrug. </p><p><br/>
“Mental picture, Jody. Jeez,” Dean said, trying not to picture his co-worker in that. He stood up. “On that note, I’m off to interview the Carrigans. They’re staying with the Romans, right, Jodes?” </p><p><br/>
“Yes.” Dick and Selma Louise Roman were another couple that were holy rollers. Roman was the town’s only lawyer and Dean thought he was a shyster. His wife was a stay-at-home mom, the type that was always talking nonsense at the PTA meetings about how her Johnny was so perfect and she shouldn’t have to buy paper towels and tissues for less privileged. </p><p><br/>
Their house was in the same neighborhood as the Miltons and the Carrigans. It was made up of acre-sized lots and lots of wrought iron fencing. Lush green, chemically enhanced lawns were bordered by pristinely trimmed Crepe Myrtles. Dean shut off the car and walked up the stone pathway. He knocked.</p><p> <br/>
The door was opened by Selma Louise. “Oh, it’s you.” She was dressed in white capri pants and a bright, yellow blouse. Her high heels matched her shirt. </p><p><br/>
“Good morning, Missus Roman, are the Carrigans here?”</p><p> <br/>
She leaned forward and whispered, “They are in the kitchen. Have you arrested that alien yet?” </p><p><br/>
“Alien?” Dean was perplexed and he knew it showed. </p><p><br/>
“That travel writer,” she said with disdain. “He threatened Lilith at the library just yesterday. Dr. Adler said that he was an illegal.” </p><p><br/>
“There was no threatening involved, Missus Roman. Rumors and gossip travel fast, but I wouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Milton was a person of interest though. They had argued in public. Could he be a killer? “May I see the Carrigans now?” </p><p><br/>
She led the way through the house. It looked like a photo shoot from Architectural Digest. Did they even live here, Dean thought. It reminded him of the movie The Stepford Wives. The newer one with Bette Midler. The couple was seated in a breakfast nook, cups of coffee and some sort of pastries were in front of them. “I’ll just clean up,” Selma Louise said breezily and began moving things around in the kitchen. </p><p><br/>
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mister and Missus Carrigan, but I have to ask some questions.” They nodded in understanding. Dean wasn’t a fan of the couple, but no one deserved to lose a child, even one like Lilith. “Who knew about your sword, Mister Carrigan?” </p><p><br/>
“My sword?” He paused and his wife began to cry softly. “Well, my family, our Bible study group, our friends... Is that... is that what...” </p><p><br/>
“We don’t know yet,” Dean interrupted the distraught man. “But it is missing from the house and...” Dean paused to collect his thoughts. “and it could just be a robbery gone bad.” Since nothing else of value was taken, Dean doubted it. Madge’s jewelry was still on her dresser, the glass gun cabinet wasn’t touched, so no, it wasn’t a robbery. “Did Lilith have any enemies? Anyone who had a grudge against her?” Dean knew the list was long, but he had to ask. </p><p><br/>
“Lily... everyone loved her. She was Miss Lee County, remember? Sweet... and talented. Lord, our girl could sing,” Madge said softly. </p><p><br/>
“She’s leading a choir with the angels now,” Selma Louise called from across the kitchen. </p><p><br/>
“Amen,” Madge said in a slightly louder voice. </p><p><br/>
Dean wasn’t going to get much out of the parents. Now, he just had to trace her steps the day of the murder. </p><p><br/>
 </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I apologize for how long it's taken to get another chapter up. The COVID-19 epidemic has made me crazy. It has sucked the creativity right out of me and so I had to distance myself from social and mainstream media to get my sanity back. After four seasons of Rupaul's Drag Race, I'm finally feeling it again. Thank you for your patience.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heart beating furiously, Castiel was once again woken from a sound sleep. Gun in hand, legs tangled in the sheets, he listened. The sun was shining in the window and someone was pressing repeatedly on the doorbell. He set the gun down. Daylight in rural Alabama probably wasn’t <em> that  </em>dangerous. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before jogging down the hall.  </p><p>When he opened the door, Mildred and Frank were standing on his porch. “Are you deaf, son?” Frank asked. “We’ve been ringing the doorbell for ages.” </p><p>“We have gossip,” Mildred said, pushing past him, her palm lingering on his bare arm.  </p><p>“Since last night?” Castiel muttered, closing the door behind them. Mildred had cooked something called chicken and dumplings for dinner. It was good, but he’d definitely have to beef up his exercise regime with the calorie bombs that were constantly being thrown at him. </p><p>“Yes,” Mildred responded, fussing around with the old coffeemaker. “Good God, this thing is an antique.” </p><p>“You’d know,” mumbled Frank, reaching into the cabinet for mugs. He knew these two were unstoppable, so Castiel got the milk out of the fridge and set it on the small kitchen table. Mildred eventually got the thing working and the rich smell of coffee made his mouth water. </p><p>Frank heaved his overweight body into one of the wooden chairs. “Good thing we didn’t rely on you for our breakfast.” </p><p>“I don’t recall inviting you over at...” Castiel looked down at his watch. “Seven-forty-five in the morning.” </p><p>“We let you sleep in,” Mildred said, setting the delicate sugar bowl on the table beside the milk. Castiel rolled his eyes. </p><p>“What is this gossip?” Castiel leaned against the counter so he could be near the coffee. God, he needed it. </p><p>“Your old friend, Lilith, was killed last night,” Frank said conversationally, like he was telling Castiel what he’d eaten for breakfast. </p><p>“What? The homophobic, racist, peroxide blonde?” He’d told them the story over dinner and they’d both gotten a kick out of it. They’d told him all about the nasty woman and how he’d been glad he’d stood up to her. “How?” </p><p>“Heard someone chopped her head off with a machete,” Frank said, motioning for Castiel to get him some coffee. </p><p>“That’s utter bull crap. She was hacked to bits by a chainsaw,” Mildred said in a tone better used to pass the peas. </p><p>“What?” Castiel choked, spewing his mouthful of coffee onto the floor. Frank snorted and passed him a roll of paper towels. “A chainsaw?” He dabbed at the brownish stain on his shirt and winced as he wiped the burning liquid off his bare feet. </p><p>“Rose, down at the Cut and Curl, heard from her cousin Meg, who owns the ice cream shop, that some maniac took a chainsaw and dismembered her.” Again, the woman’s voice inflection was calm and casual. She was sitting at his table, drinking coffee, and acting like she talked about gruesome murders every day. “What’s in his fridge, Frank? I’m hungry.” </p><p>Frank got to his feet and opened Castiel’s refrigerator like he owned the place and made some humming noise. “Lunch meat... beer...” He shut it with a dramatic sigh. “Guess you’re used to eating out at all the ritzy places you travel too, huh?” </p><p>“Uh, yes.” If he only knew what Castiel ate on missions. Military rations, lamb and bean stew, and Mejadra on good days, goat jerky and prepackaged trail mix on bad ones. </p><p>“Let’s go to my house. At least I have bacon and eggs,” Frank muttered, picking up his cup of coffee and leaving the kitchen. “And I can do some research.” </p><p>Mildred stood with her mug. “You coming?” Castiel shrugged and followed her, all the while wondering what ‘research’ Frank had to do. </p><p>Frank’s home was <em> different </em>. As he passed through the living room, he noted the dated furniture and Middle Eastern memorabilia, brass figurines, desert paintings, and a couple of beautiful tapestries. The dining room was another matter. The table once used for eating family dinners was strewn with papers and books, but what got Castiel’s attention was the bank of computer monitors and a server rack that would rival the CIA’s. “Frank?” </p><p>He got a lifted eyebrow, so he stowed his questions. In the kitchen, Mildred and Frank moved around in a well-orchestrated dance to get breakfast going. Where they... uh? No, surely not.  </p><p>“You’ve got the skillet too hot, you old bastard.” </p><p>“Shut up and mind your business. Those biscuits aren’t going to bake themselves.” Mildred was up to her elbows in some sort of thick dough. She held up a flour covered middle finger and got back to kneading. </p><p>“What can I do?” Castiel asked. </p><p>“Get the eggs out of the fridge and break them into a bowl,” Frank said, turning strips of bacon. The kitchen was starting to smell amazing.  </p><p>Castiel was confident that he could do that. Ten minutes later, Frank was picking bits of shell out of the bowl and frowning.  </p><p>While they ate, Mildred and Frank talked about the murder. Castiel barely knew the obnoxious woman and wasn’t broken up about it. In his line of work, some people just deserved to die.  </p><p>Once they were finished eating, Castiel volunteered to clean the kitchen and Frank stepped back to let him. It didn’t take him long. Mildred sat at the table and waited for him to finish while the older man disappeared somewhere in his house. After setting the last plate in the drainer, Castiel dried his hands and turned around. “Okay, let me go change and we can go to the store you were talking about.” </p><p>“Walmart,” she said, standing herself. </p><p>“No, you said Wally World. You said it had everything I’d need,” Castiel informed her, confusion marring his brow.  </p><p>“Oh, hon, Wally World is Walmart. Have you been living under a rock, Sweetie?” She patted his arm and walked out before he could come up with an answer. Walmart? Well, of course, he’d heard of the huge conglomerate, though he’d never shopped there. At the entrance to the dining room, she stopped. “Hey, you old fart, what’d you find out?” </p><p>Castiel took a step into the room and saw the back of Frank’s head. He was typing furiously on a keyboard. “She wasn’t hacked up. Stab wound in the upper abdomen according to the deputy’s report.” </p><p>“What’s going on?” Castiel asked, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.  </p><p>“Frank hacked into the sheriff’s main frame,” Mildred said breezily. </p><p>“For the millionth time, Milly, it isn’t a main frame. I hacked into their server.” </p><p>“Server. Main frame. Who gives a rat’s ass? You knew what I was talking about, you old coot.”  </p><p>He raised a hand but didn’t turn around. “Don’t you have to take pretty boy shopping or something?” </p><p>“We’re going,” Mildred locked her arm around Castiel’s. “Come on. Leave him to spy on folks.” </p><p>Outside, Castiel stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. “Mildred, how... is he really...”  </p><p>“Oh, sweetheart, don’t pay him no mind. This is what he does. You want to know anything about anyone in Coosa Falls... hell, in the State of Alabama, you just ask Frank.” </p><p>“Okay... Oh, okay,” Castiel wondered if the FBI or CIA kept tabs on Frank. No, he really didn’t want to know. </p><p>Two hours later, Castiel had added a couple hundred dollars to Jimmy’s credit card, but came home with several pairs of shorts, jeans, and shirts, plus groceries that Mildred had assured him were essential. Granted, he couldn’t cook, but if Frank and Mildred came over, they could make a meal. His favorite grumpy neighbor was waiting on Castiel’s porch when they pulled into the driveway. He didn’t offer to help unload the car, but he did assist in putting the food away. </p><p>Back on the porch, the three sat with sweating cans of Coke. Frank said nothing new had come up about Lilith, but he had an alert set on his computer to tell him when the medical examiner’s report came in. Castiel still had questions, but those could wait. At noon, Mildred stood and said she was going to make their lunch. She disappeared into his house and Castiel guessed she would be using the supplies they’d brought home from the store. He was lifting his drink to his mouth when the deputy’s car pulled into the driveway. Frank whispered conspiratorially, “I’ll lay odds that your argument with the deceased made you a person of interest.”  </p><p>“I didn’t even know the woman,” Castiel argued. Making him a person of interest because of a public <em> discussion  </em>was ludicrous and dangerous to his cover story.  </p><p>He watched the handsome deputy exit his car and stroll across the lawn. The natural swagger and sunglasses doing funny things to Castiel’s insides. “Good afternoon, Deputy Winchester,” he called out as the man got to the steps. </p><p>“Afternoon, Mr. Milton. Frank.” He came up the steps and leaned against the railing. “I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your public argument with Miss Carrigan.” </p><p>“Who?” Castiel asked, then answered his own question. “That Lilith person?”  </p><p>“Yes. Lilith Carrigan,” the deputy said, crossing his arms across his chest. And a nice chest it was. Broad shoulders... narrow waist... all in all, a near perfect package. “Miss Carrigan was killed sometime last night.”  </p><p>Frank leaned forward. “We heard all about it, Dean. So, why are you here? Surely you don’t think Jimmy had anything to do with it. He barely knew her.” </p><p>“I have been tracing her activities yesterday and Jimmy here had a <em> very </em> public run-in with her. You know how these things work, Frank.” </p><p>“Like Frank said, I barely knew her. Yesterday’s disagreement was the first and only time I ever met her.” </p><p>“I get that.” He uncrossed his arms and slid his hands into his pockets, and that brought Castiel’s gaze down to <em> there </em>. When he realized what he’d done, his gaze shot upwards. Just in time to see Dean’s eyebrow lift in question. “Where were you last night, Mr. Milton?” </p><p>“What time?” Frank had read the report to him and he knew the deputy was listed as on scene at twelve thirty-two. He was an operative, interrogations were second nature to him. Both as the questioner and the questionee. </p><p>“Between the hours of seven and midnight,” Winchester responded, just as Mildred pushed the screen door open. She was balancing three plates on her arms. Castiel rose quickly to help, taking one of the plates.  </p><p>“Dean, I had no idea you’d be here. Do you want a sandwich?” </p><p>“No, ma’am. I’m here on official business, Mildred.” </p><p>“Oh, is that about Lilith’s murder? An unpleasant girl. Not that that’s a reason to kill her, or else we’d have a lot less people in the world.” She sat in one of the rockers and passed the other plate to Frank. </p><p>“Can you answer the question, Mr. Milton?”  </p><p>“What question?” Mildred asked and Castiel was amused to see the frustration in Winchester’s expression. </p><p>“He asked Jimmy where he was last night,” Frank supplied before taking a large bite of his sandwich. </p><p>“Oh, that’s all. Well, we sat here on the porch until dark and the mosquitos started biting. Maybe... what... eight or so?” Mildred turned to Frank and he nodded. “Then...” </p><p>“Mildred, could you let Mr. Milton answer the question?” Winchester asked, straightening and dropping his hands to his side. </p><p>“Like Mildred said, we sat out here until a little after eight, then I went inside. I showered and got ready for bed. I read for a while and then went to sleep.” </p><p>“And no one can back up your story?” Castiel was good at reading people. And his intuition told him that Winchester wasn’t placing him on the suspect list. </p><p>“I sleep alone, Deputy Winchester.” Castiel mimicked the deputy’s casual pose, keeping eye contact. Seconds ticked by. They say eyes are the window to the soul. If that’s the case, the deputy must have a beautiful soul.  </p><p>“Heard tell they call that eye fucking,” Frank’s loud stage whisper and guffaw broke the two men out of their stare. Castiel noted that Winchester’s cheeks were a bit redder than the heat and humidity of Alabama warranted.  </p><p>Winchester cleared his throat, glared at Frank, and then turned back to Castiel. “All I ask is that you stay in the area.” </p><p>“I’d planned on it, Deputy,” Castiel said with a smile.  </p><p>He watched the man walk back to his car. “He’s cute, but he’s even cuter walking away,” Mildred said and took another bite of her sandwich. Castiel would have to agree with her. The man did have a fine ass. </p><p>Eventually, Mildred and Frank left to do whatever it was they do. In Frank’s case, it was probably to spy on the government. Castiel spent the rest of the afternoon inside of the air-conditioned house. Why couldn’t the CIA spring for a mountain cabin in Colorado? He read. He surfed the net using his phone’s hotspot. He discovered you couldn’t watch television unless you had a cable package.  </p><p>
  
</p><p><em> He cleaned the handle of the sword in his garage, using bleach. The harlot’s blood remained. He had a plan. The illegal immigrant. People like </em> <em>  him  </em> <em> fed off </em> <em>  Ame </em> <em> ricans like parasites. He was probably getting money from the government. Money meant for real patriots and those that believed in the Almighty. He would plant the evidence tonight.  </em> </p><p> </p><p>Waiting on the ME’s report was driving Dean crazy, but the wheels of justice ran slow. He’d written his report up and had to decide who to interview first. His gut told him the stranger in town wasn’t the perp, but he still needed to dot his I's and cross his T’s. He’d gotten a couple of calls from the ‘helpful’ citizens of the town demanding that he arrest the <em> Muslim </em>. Milton was about as Middle Eastern as he was. </p><p>He drove to Milton’s house, only to see him and Frank sitting on the porch. He wasn’t surprised that Frank knew all about the murder. The man wasn’t nearly as crazy as people made him out to be. Frank was a force to be reckoned with and Dean would give anything to see the dude’s computer system. Probable cause was a pain in his ass sometimes.  </p><p>Dean only had the one question. Where was Milton when the murder was taking place? It was an easy question, but Frank was making it harder than it was. Then Mildred came out and had to add to the circus. And what the fuck was up with that smoldering look from Milton? If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear the guy was undressing him with his eyes and Dean felt his face heat up. In retrospect, Dean thought it was only fair, since he’d got to see loverboy in just his orange briefs. That was an image he was going to remember forever. <em> And ever </em> . It was  <em> interesting </em>  though.  <em> Come on Winchester, you’re just imagining things. Not everyone is interested in your dick </em>. </p><p>Satisfied that Milton wasn’t his culprit, he finally escaped the Frank and Mildred comedy hour. Add Milton to that duo and it really was a fucking circus. As he got behind the wheel of his cruiser, he glanced back and saw Milton staring at him. Yeah, it was a circus all right and Milton was the hot, bendy aerialist. <em> Damn </em>, he needed to get out more. </p><p>He had a couple more stops to make. Josie Sands was a local girl and one of Lilith’s friends from high school according to local gossip. He pulled up to the modest brick home just outside the city limits. Miss Sands, so he’d been told, was a single mother and worked in Montgomery as a secretary for some accounting firm. Since it was Saturday, he suspected she’d be home. The red Mustang convertible in the driveway told him he’d been correct in his assumption. Accountants must pay pretty damn good, he mused as he walked by the late model, ruby red car. <em> Flashy, </em> but not as beautiful as his baby. </p><p>As he neared the door, he heard an incessant barking coming from inside the house. He rang the doorbell and the noise got even louder. Someone screamed out the word ‘shut up’ and the door was yanked open. Josie Sands was beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. Her pale white skin was flawless, and her hair was <em> so </em> red that Dean would bet his next paycheck that it came from a bottle. </p><p>“Yeah?” She asked as the dog danced and yipped around his ankles. The thing looked like a teddy bear that had been fluffed in a clothes dryer. In the woman’s arms was a chubby toddler. The little boy stared at Dean with a solemn expression. </p><p>“Miss Sands? I’m Deputy Winchester. I’m here to ask you a few questions about your friend, Lilith Carrigan.” </p><p>“What about her?” Dean saw the cloak of suspicion come over her face. </p><p>“I’m sure you’ve heard about her death and I’d like to talk to you about...” The dog was still making racket and while it didn’t seem to faze the woman, it was driving him batshit crazy. “Perhaps I can come in and...” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Abby,” she yelled down at the mutt and it was like she flipped a switch. It tucked its tail between its legs and scuttled inside the house. “Look, Lilith and I were friends in high school, but since she’s been back... well, let’s just say we didn’t run in the same social circles.” </p><p>“Did she have any enemies in town that you know of?” </p><p>“Enemies?” Her laugh was grating. “Most of the women in town hated her guts and the men, shit, if they hadn’t already fucked her, they wanted to.” Great, so basically his suspects were a bunch of jealous women.  </p><p>“Anyone in particular?” </p><p>“Like I said, we haven’t been close since the twelfth grade. I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugged her shapely shoulders and hitched the kid higher on her hip.  </p><p>Dean fished one of his cards out of his uniform pocket. “If you think of anyone, or anything that could help with the investigation, please give me a call.”  </p><p>She took it, glanced at it, and then let her eyes travel up and down his body, stopping midway to stare at his left ring finger. She tilted her head coquettishly. “I’ll do that, Deputy Winchester. I’ll just do that.” Her smile made chills go up and down his spine. He really didn’t need a barracuda in his life. </p><p>He backed up a step. “Thank you, Miss Sands.” He touched the brim of his hat and hurried down the weed-ridden walkway. Driving to the station, he realized he had jack shit.  </p><p>The medical examiner’s report was on his desk. As he suspected, the stab wound was caused by a long blade. The missing sword was most likely his murder weapon. The blade severed her aorta and she bled out almost instantly.  </p><p>He was staring at his monitor hoping the answer would manifest on the screen when his brother walked into the station. He was greeted by Linda and he stopped at her desk to be updated on Kevin's Yale experience. Dean took a sip of coffee and waited.  </p><p>Ten minutes later, Sam sat down on the chair next to Dean’s desk. “Let me guess. You want the scoop about Lilith Carrigan’s murder.” </p><p>“Can’t a guy come see his favorite brother without an ulterior motive?” Sam even managed to look contrite. It made Dean shake his head in disbelief. “Mandy’s doing great by the way. She even showed up this morning. I’m thinking about letting her do her own column.” </p><p>“Seriously? That’s awesome.” </p><p>“She’s smart and I thought she could do a short piece for the youth in Coosa Falls. If it works, I’m thinking about making it a regular thing.” </p><p>“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean smiled. Sam had always been there to help him with Mandy. Being a single father was hard and a couple times he thought he was failing, but Sam was around to kick his ass and get him back on track.  </p><p>“Now, about that murder...”   </p><p>Dean laughed. “Yeah, I knew it.” He leaned back in his chair. “There’s not much to tell right now.” He’d already given Sam the basics like time of death. “The murder weapon was most likely the stolen Civil War sword Carrigan had on his wall, but I can’t let you print that yet. It’s still missing and until it shows up, I don’t want that to be public knowledge.” Sam nodded in understanding. “I’ve interviewed the new guy,” Dean paused. <em>Jimmy Milton</em>. He was an enigma and his cop brain wanted to solve that puzzle. “I also talked to a friend of hers from high school, but I got nothing. Seemed she wasn’t liked and there’s a lot of people to sort through.” </p><p>“You don’t think the travel writer had anything to do with it, do you?”  </p><p>“No. My gut is telling me he’s not my perp. He didn’t even know her. Sure, they had a public argument, but I don’t think he’s the sort of man to kill people that disagree with him.” </p><p>“So, what’s he like?” Sam planted his elbow on Dean’s desk. “I looked him up but couldn’t find any travel shows he’s been on.” </p><p>“Isn’t he just the writer? I don’t see him as the type to dress in colorful shorts and walk around with a pina colada. He’s more...” Dean closed his eyes and the image of Milton in those tight briefs came to mind. He shook his head and spared a look at his brother. </p><p>Sam straightened up, his eyes wide. “Oh, my God, you think he’s hot.”    </p><p>“What? No. No, I don’t. He’s just...” </p><p>“Hot? Sexy? Smexy?” Sam was having too much fun at Dean’s expense. </p><p>“What the fuck is smexy?” </p><p>“I heard it from Mandy. It’s someone who is smart and sexy rolled into one package.” </p><p>“I think I’m going to have a talk with my kid. She shouldn’t even know what sexy means. </p><p>“She’s growing up, Dean,” Sam said, his tone serious. “She’s not a little girl anymore.” </p><p>“Shut up, Bitch,” Dean growled. The thought of his baby girl being interested in someone in <em> that  </em> way made his stomach roll. He’d barely made it through the <em>  period </em> conversation. </p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For once</span>
  <span>,</span>
  
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> woke naturally. The sounds of birds and an occasional car driving by were the only sounds. He sighed and stared at the ceiling fan turning lazily. He should be feeling boredom, but for some strange reason, he felt content</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> For the first time in a very long time, he didn’t have a mission on the horizon. There was no sense of impending danger. He stretched and his bare feet thumped on the beautifully finished hardwood floors. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’d stayed late at Mildred’s previous night playing some board game he vaguely remembered from his childhood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The last game he’d played was something called Cards Against Humanity at Mick’s. It had been the two of them and three other couples. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mick</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The man was a topic of contemplation he didn’t want to delve into. To be fair, he should end it. Mick deserved someone who would be there to wake up to every morning. Shaking his head to clear the errant thoughts, he strode into the kitchen. The broken glass on the floor didn’t register until he almost stepped on it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He narrowed his eyes and stared at the small pane broken just above the doorknob. “What the hell?” When was the last time he was in the kitchen? Right before he left for Mildred’s. He’d</span>
  <span> grabbed the bottle of wine to take over there. When he’d gotten home, he went straight to his room. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Someone was knocking and he left the room to answer. Mildred and Frank stood on his porch. She was holding a basket with a towel wadded up in it. “I brought breakfast. Buttermilk biscuits and country sausage.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She wants to fatten you up,” Frank grumbled and pushed his way inside. “I got the ME’s report.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> put his hand on Mildred’s arm to keep her from entering the kitchen. “I’m afraid someone broke into the house last night.” He pointed to the broken window.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“My word,” Mildred exclaimed. “Did they take anything?” She turned wide eyes on him. “Sweet baby Jesus, did you see them, Jimmy? Are you okay?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> couldn’t help but smile at her concern. “I’m fine. I think I would have heard it if it happened after I got home last night.” He glanced around the room quickly. “I don’t know if anything was taken or not. I just noticed it right be</span>
  <span>fore</span>
  
  <span>you k</span>
  <span>nocked.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frank had </span>
  <span>been</span>
  <span> oddly quiet since they’d arrived but suddenly turned and muttered, “Television is still here, but it’s old, so not worth much.” He walked deeper into the house and Castiel followed. “The old girl’s silver is still in the china cabinet.” At the end of the hall, he peered into Castiel’s bedroom. “Your laptop is still on your dresser.” Frank faced him. “Maybe you scared them away when you got home last night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re probably right,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, but something didn’t feel right. His gut had never let him down. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Back in the kitchen, Mildred was on the old wall phone. “Thanks, Linda.” She hung up, wringing her hands. “I called the sheriff’s office. Linda’s sending Dean over to do a report. Do you think they left fingerprints?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Most police departments don’t dust for petty theft and since nothing was taken, I don’t think he’ll be able to do anything,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said and stared again at the broken pane. His gaze dropped to the glass on the floor and he stooped down. Several pieces were crushed. Someone obviously unlocked the door and came inside the house. Had he been found? He stood up. “Could you two </span>
  <span>wait</span>
  <span> for the deputy? I have to make a call... insurance...” He supplied the flimsiest of excuses, but he couldn’t very well say he had to call the Agency.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In his room, he shut the </span>
  <span>do</span>
  <span>or</span>
  <span> and op</span>
  <span>ened the bedside table where he kept the burner phone. He pressed the number listed for VH. “Novak?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“My house was broken into last night. Nothing was taken.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His words were met with silence for all of five seconds. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> counted. Finally, Victor spoke. “We haven’t seen any movement in the cell. None. Our operative in place is confident they don’t know your whereabouts. Your condo hasn’t been touched. We’ve got cameras and listening devices there.” Victor’s tone was clipped and precise. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Mick?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Safe. You made sure that was kept quiet. I’m not worried, but we have a man on him just in case. I got nothing, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. Are you sure it wasn’t just a ra</span>
  <span>ndom </span>
  <span>break in</span>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, but something feels off.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten-four. Stay alert.” More silence. “And Castiel...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone by the name of Sam Winchester did an Internet se</span>
  <span>arch </span>
  <span>for Jimmy Milton</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> He</span>
  <span> owns the local rag down there. You know him?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been introduced,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said softly, his eyes looking out the bedroom window as the deputy’s car pulled up to the curb. Why would Sam Winchester be looking him up? Was he a person of interest in the murder? It was absurd. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We blocked his searches and I’ve got alerts in place if he starts digging. Times up.” Without a goodbye, Victor hung up. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked at his watch. The call had lasted less than two minutes. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was out of his room before the first knock. Mildred was already there to open the door though. “Dean, thanks for coming.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You had a break in?” His question was directed at Castiel. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Someone broke a pane on the backdoor.” He almost added the part about the intruder stepping on the glass </span>
  <span>but</span>
  <span> decided against it. The deputy would be able to figure it out on his own. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean moved into the kitchen and snapped a picture with his phone. “Mildred said nothing was taken.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was a statement not a question, but </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> replied anyway. “Not that I know of. Missus Howell may have had some things I’m not aware of.” The elderly woman’s personal belongings were packed and taken to the nursing home according to the realtor, but most of the </span>
  <span>things</span>
  <span> in the home were antiques and probably expensive. </span>
  <span>It wasn’t a robbery, of th</span>
  <span>at</span>
  
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was sure. Any thief would have taken the laptop since it was in plain sight. </span>
  <span>Further proof that it wasn’t the ones after him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean crouched to study the glass. “They obviously came in.” He stood and faced </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. “Mr. Milton, this was probably just kids. Maybe you scared them.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re probably right,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> nodded. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After the deputy left with a promise to send </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> a report, Mildred grabbed the broom and dustpan. “I’ll get that, Mildred,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, reaching for them, but she shook her head and nodded toward Frank. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim, you need to come with me.” Frank stepped into the formal dining room with its lace tablecloth and tarnished silver candlesticks. “While you were calling your </span>
  <em>
    <span>insurance </span>
  </em>
  <span>company, I took a walk around the house. He pushed aside the sheer curtains and there on the window seal was an old saber. Narrowing his eyes, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stepped closer. “The ME’s report...” He grabbed </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> arm to prevent him from touching it. “It showed Lilith was killed with a long blade. The same type of weapon taken from the Carrigan’s home. A Civil War sword.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked closer. He’d first thoug</span>
  <span>ht it was rust </span>
  <span>corroding the an</span>
  <span>tique sab</span>
  <span>er</span>
  <span>,</span>
  
  <span>b</span>
  <span>ut</span>
  <span> now, he saw it was dried blood. “Why didn’t you show this to the deputy?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> asked, his voice devoid of emotion. Someone was trying to frame him. But why? And who?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought we should talk first,” Frank stated matter-of-factly. Using a hand </span>
  <span>towel</span>
  <span> he must have taken from the kitchen, Frank picked up the sword by its hilt, and led the way back to the kitchen. He set it down on the table and sat down. Mildred was already seated.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t </span>
  <span>kill that</span>
  <span> woman,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said emphatically. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We know that, </span>
  <span>Jimmy,” Mildred whispered. She patted the table and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> took a seat. He l</span>
  <span>ooked from her to Frank. “</span>
  <span>Frank</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s what we know,” Frank started. “You have two phones, kind of odd for a travel writer.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> opened his mouth, but Frank held up a hand. “You studied the glass and knew the intruder entered the house because it had been crushed under foot.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> remained silent. “Who are you, son? FBI? CIA?  US Marshall?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> clasped his hands on the table in front of him, not breaking eye contact. Frank was a formable opponent, one he respected. “How did you know about the phones?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The one you usually have on you is sitting on the table by the front door with your keys. I didn’t eavesdrop, but you were talking to someone in your room. Two and two usually equals four.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t that be one and one eq</span>
  <span>uals tw</span>
  <span>o?</span>
  <span>”</span>
  <span> Mildred asked a bit too innocently. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> saw the quirk of her lip. Frank rolled his eyes and leaned back in his c</span>
  <span>hair.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked down at his hands and then back up at the two people he’d come to adore. “I could be a felon.” The wheels in his head were spinning wildly. His cover was supposed to keep him alive. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Horse hockey,” Mildred sputtered. “I would have known right away.” Frank didn’t speak. Intelligent eyes through thick glasses </span>
  <span>looked into</span>
  <span> his very soul.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He broke eye contact, his gaze traveling to the ceiling. “My name is </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> Novak. I’m an operative for the CIA. I have a price on my head and was sent here to disappear until things cool down.” He paused and if he expected sho</span>
  <span>ck, </span>
  <span>he</span>
  
  <span>was sadly mistaken. </span>
  <span>Both of them</span>
  <span> looked calm and collected.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you been with the Agency?” Frank asked finally.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Long enough,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> answered and Frank gave him a respectful nod. “This can’t go any further.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit, Sherlock,” Frank said with a scowl. “So, let’s get back to the problem sitting right in front of us.</span>
  <span>” Three sets of eyes looked down at the saber.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“My handler doesn’t think the break in was related to my... issue.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Course not. Someone in this town murdered that girl and is trying to frame you,” Mildred said, rising to get a can of Coke out of the refrigerator. “Anyone else?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Both men shook their heads. She sat back down and popped the top. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched her. “Why are you so quick to believe I didn’t kill her?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No motive. You didn’t even know her, let alone where she lived,” Frank supplied. “We just have to figure out who planted the sword in your house. That’s our killer.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, you are a good person, Jimmy Milton,” Mildred added warmly, patting his hand.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You forget that I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>travel writer </span>
  </em>
  <span>and you are two normal citizens. We </span>
  <span>have to</span>
  <span> tell Deputy Winchester.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as I like that kid, he’ll have to do everything by the book. We don’t have to abide by the rules,” Frank said, still eyeing the saber.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you s</span>
  <span>aying, </span>
  <span>Frank?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The Agency doesn’t hire idiots, you’re smart. I’m smart. Milly’s probably got more common sense than both of us combined.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stared uncomprehendingly at him for several seconds. “We can do things the cops can’t.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred slapped the table with both palms. “Where do we start?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy doesn’t have any enemies in town, so this isn’t about him. This is about Lilith. Someone hated her enough to kill her, and Jimmy here m</span>
  <span>akes</span>
  
  <span>an </span>
  <span>easy scapegoat. New in town, had a run-in with the victim, an outsider.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>? That name is familiar,” Mildred murmured. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The Angel of Thursday,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, his mind still trying to wrap around the fact that his cover was blown, at least to these two, and now </span>
  <span>Frank</span>
  <span> wants to solve the murder like they are in some weird television show like Murder She Wrote. The world didn’t work that way.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Best to keep calling you Jimmy. Don’t want any slipups,” she continued. “An angel, hmm, well if all angels looked like you, more people would be beating down the Pearly Gates.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank </span>
  </em>
  <span>you,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> responded because what else could</span>
  <span> he sa</span>
  <span>y?</span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s investigation was at a dead end. He had no murder weapon, no suspects, and no fucking clue what to do next. He was sipping his coffee and reading the case</span>
  <span> file for the </span>
  <span>fi</span>
  <span>fteenth</span>
  <span> tim</span>
  <span>e when Linda called to him. “Got a break in over on Oak. Missus Howell’s house.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Milton’s house. Dean stood up and picked up the keys to the cruiser. “On my way.” As he settled behind the wheel and started the car, he muttered, “Murders, break ins, what’s next?” His quiet little town was suddenly a hotbed of crime. It made him worry about raising his daughter here. He’d thought Coosa Falls would be perfect. No gangs. No</span>
  <span> m</span>
  <span>eth labs</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> Shit, with o</span>
  <span>nly two stop lights, they barely had any traffic accidents. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred opened the door when he knocked, but it was Milton who captured his eyes. He looked like he just rolled out of bed and </span>
  <span>was still the best-looking man Dean had ever seen this side of Hollywood.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He surveyed the scene, but it was pretty cut and dried. A simple break in. Nothing of value appeared to be taken. The perp, probably a teen, had let himself into the house, but probably got scared and left. Without an excuse to stay, Dean reluctantly went back to the station. He was drawn to the man. There was no denying it. His gaydar wasn’t the best in the world, but he got the vibe that Milton wouldn’t punch him in the face if he... what? Made a pass? Asked him out? Who was he kidding? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he settled behind his desk again, Rufus came out of his office. “Tell me you got something?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It was probably kids. Nothing was taken,” Dean replied, not looking up from his keyboard. He needed to log in the report while it was still fresh in his </span>
  <span>min</span>
  <span>d.</span>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Kids? What are you talking about?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked up. “What are you talking about?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The murder of Lilith Carrigan,” Rufus snapped. “What were you talking about?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone broke into the new guy’s house. Like I said, nothing was taken.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I got the mayor, the </span>
  <span>Carrigans</span>
  <span>, and half the Baptist Church breathing down my neck, Winchester. Damn fool mayor said something about bringing in the state police. I won’t have those assholes mucking up my town. Solve it. Fast.” The slamming of the sheriff’s door made the glass rattle. Dean blew out a frustrated breath. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He punched his fingers into the keyboard until some semblance of a report took </span>
  <span>shape</span>
  <span>. He saved and printed it. “I’m going to lunch,” he told Linda and left the building. Pissed at the lack of evidence, he pushed open the door of Hot and Cold, the little town’s best kept secret. The bell above the door announcing his presence. Charlie, his friend and part owner, looked up from the brownies she was aligning with military precision.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Bestie,” she cried and leapt into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. “You’ve been </span>
  <span>busy</span>
  <span> and I’ve missed your pretty face.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <span>hitting</span>
  <span> on my girl, Winchester?” Meg’s voice rang out as she stepped through the swinging doors.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been trying to steal her away since you opened this place.” Dean grinned, already in a better mood. Hot and Cold was the love child of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor and a delectable bakery. Charlie slid down and pranced over to the displ</span>
  <span>ay </span>
  <span>showcasing</span>
  <span> eve</span>
  <span>rything from artfully decorated cupcakes to chocolate chip cookies as big as Frisbees. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You need boobs to get my </span>
  <span>girl,” Meg teased.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I have perky nipples.”</span>
  
  <span>Dean</span>
  <span> amb</span>
  <span>led over to the large cooler. “Any new flavors?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Meg p</span>
  <span>ointed to a </span>
  <span>pale </span>
  <span>yellow</span>
  <span> i</span>
  <span>ce cream with bright red dots. “Red Hot Lover. Banana with red hot candies blended in.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean backed up a step. “I think I’ll settle for the chocolate.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Boring,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Meg said, getting a cookie cone from behind the counter.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So not boring,” Dean sang out, sliding into a short, enthusiastic, but painfully awkward dance. He spun and froze. At a table in the corner, hidden from the door, sat Milton and Mildred. Amusement danced in those baby blues. “Shit,” he mumbled and straightened to his full height. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred clapped. “Nicely done, Dean.” She turned to Milton, who was licking an ice cream cone. Yes, licking it with his tongue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His tongue</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Isn’t he a handsome one, Jimmy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite,” Milton said, his head tilting just slightly like an inquisitive bird. “If law enforcement doesn’t work out, he could always try exotic dance.” Another lick. Christ, the man was trying to kill him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Meg laughed. “Like anyone would want to see that...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know... I’d put some singles in his </span>
  <span>g-string</span>
  <span>,” Milton said, laughing and everyone joined in, except Dean. Dean was having heart palpitations. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, can I get my cone?” He asked softly, his face hot. He refused to look over in the corner. Meg scooped out a generous helping and when he reached for his wallet, she waved it away.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“This one’s on the house,” she said softly. Meg wasn’t all that bad. He gave her a brief, but warm smile and took the cone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Meg. See you around, Charlie.” He held up his cone in lieu of a wave and left, the bell on the door tinkling merrily. His mood, bad to begin with because of the case, plummeted to an all-time low after embarrassing himself in front of Milton. James. Jimmy. Jim. Which one did he prefer? Mildred and Frank called him Jimmy, but the name didn’t suit him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After finishing the cone, he ate the sandwich he’d brought from home while sitting at his desk. Yes, he’d eaten dessert first, because like the saying goes – life is uncertain...</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <span>opened up</span>
  <span> the case file again. He was missing something, but what the hell was it? By all accounts, Lilith was the town slut. She’d slept her way through her senior year of high school and graduated to some of the married men in Coosa Falls before leaving for the bright lights of Atlanta. Yet, since she’d been back, she’d gone to church every Sunday morning and Wednesday night with her parents. He flipped through his notes. What had her parents told him during his initial interview? </span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lilith was in the Youth Group and always volunteered to help the church’s elders with their spiritual duties. It didn’t fit the profile he’d put together for her.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean closed out of the file and stood up. “Linda, I’m heading over to the Baptist Church. Call if you need anything.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let lightning strike you,” she said with a laugh. It wasn’t a secret that Dean wasn’t big on organized religion of any kind.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The imposing brick </span>
  <span>b</span>
  <span>uild</span>
  <span>ing </span>
  <span>was said to be the</span>
  <span> oldes</span>
  <span>t in</span>
  <span> the county. The white bell tower housed a huge bell, but in the five years he’d been living here, he’d never heard it ring. It felt weird walking into the large sanctuary. He looked around and then up, like he expected a garrison of angels to smite him for being in their holy place. He saw the door near the front of pulpit and went through it. He was standing in a carpeted hall with closed doors to both the left and right. Logic told him to go right and he’d only gotten about four steps when one of the doors opened. A woman with a huge hairdo came out and started. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you need something, Deputy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Afternoon, Missus Adler. I was hoping t</span>
  <span>o </span>
  <span>talk</span>
  <span> to the pastor.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe he is working on his sermon for this Sunday.” Dean knew Doris Adler didn’t need a job. Doctor Adler made a very good living </span>
  <span>treating</span>
  <span> the people of </span>
  <span>Coosa Falls. His wife had inherited a small fortune from her dear old daddy, so together they had a tidy sum banked away. No, s</span>
  <span>he did the secretarial work for the church in order to get into everyone’s business. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She raised a hand to her highly coiffed do and her lips pinched in a frown at the </span>
  <span>audacity</span>
  <span> of someone disturbing the pastor. Dean remembered the saying he’d learned from Charlie when he’d moved here. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>higher </span>
  </em>
  <span>the hair, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer</span>
  </em>
  <span> to God. If one believed that, she’d be going to heaven for sure.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“This is sheriff business, Missus Adler. Please tell him I’m here,” he said in his most authoritative voice.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She sniffed and turned her back to walk away. At one of the closed doors, she knocked tentatively. “Reverend Milton, a deputy is here to see you.” Dean heard a muffled reply and she turned to gesture him inside.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The reverend </span>
  <span>was an austere man, perhaps five years or so older than Dean. He didn’t bother standing when Dean entered. “Afternoon, Reverend Milton</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> I have a couple of questions and promise not to take up much of your time.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The pastor tossed his pen down in a way that showed Dean he wasn’t keen on being interrupted. “What’s this about, Deputy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you knew Lilith Carrigan. Could you tell me if you knew her when she was in high school?” The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“When Lilith was in high school, I was the youth minister. She was a headstrong, young woman, but most teenage girls are. I’m afraid I can’t offer too much insight. At that time, I was getting ready to move up to take the full-time po</span>
  <span>sition </span>
  <span>as</span>
  
  <span>rector</span>
  
  <span>of the church.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who else was in the youth group at that time?” Dean asked, trying to hide his distaste of the man. He had a reputation of being fire and brimstone. Dean wasn’t big on church, but the God he grew up knowing wasn’t spiteful. He didn’t like anyone using His Name to spew their own hatred of different religions, ethnic groups, or sexual orientation. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, let’s see. Hannah Carroll was in that group. A rather mousy thing. I believe she’s married to a professor at Auburn. Alistair Heyerdahl was another one and he’s one of our deacons... and Ruby Cassidy. I’m afraid I can’t remember any of the others. They’ve probably moved away from Coosa Falls. If that’s all, Deputy, I really do need to get on with my sermon.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Reverend.” Dean turned to go, pocketing the small notebook he’d used to write down the names he’d been given. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Deputy?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean swung around to face the pastor. “Yes?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a young daughter, I believe?” Icy fingers moved up Dean’s spine. Something about the man sent alarm bells ringing.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Our current youth ministers, Doctor and Missus Adler, would love to have her attend a Sunday meeting after church. You don’t go to services anywhere, do you?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll speak to her and see if she wants to try it out. Thanks again,” Dean said and closed the door behind him. Why did he feel the need of a shower?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the cruiser, the looked down at the list. He didn’t recognize any of the names. It was time to pay his brother a visit. Sam knew everyone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sam and Mandy were sitting at the center table when he walked in. Amy Pond, the copy editor Sam employed p</span>
  <span>art-time, was standing at the copy machine. “Hello, sweetheart. Working hard?” He asked with a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you checking up on me?” Mandy gave him a bitchface that would rival her uncle’s.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Not this time. I need some info from your Uncle Sam</span>
  <span>my. Seeing you just makes my visit better.” Now that the copier was finished making noises, he smiled at Amy. “Hey, Amy, how’s it going?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” she mumbled and took the papers to her desk. She hadn’t forgiven him from arresting her son, Jacob, for shoplifting a few months back. Dean at Sam and mouthed ‘oh, well’.</span>
  <span> Sam shrugged.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a few names I need to you look over. Tell me what you know about them.” Sam held out his hand and Dean passed him the notepad. He read through them and stood.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go to my office.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once the door was closed, Sam sat on the edge of his desk. “This have to do with the case?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, these people where in Lilith’s youth group at the Baptist Church.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Hannah Carroll owns the daycare. She’s a nice woman. Married to Eric, a professor at Auburn. I think he teaches architecture... or maybe engineering. They’re good people. Alistair </span>
  <span>Heyerdahl. He’s...” Sam rubbed his hand over his face. “Let’s just say he’s not good people. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ruby Cassidy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He grinned. “I actually went out with her once, right after I moved here. She’s a fitness instructor at some gym over Montgomery.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Eileen know about her?” Dean asked with a smirk. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Eileen knows all about it. We have no secrets.” Dean didn’t doubt that. They had the type of marriage Dean could only dream about. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go back to that Alistair dude. What can you tell me?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s slimy. He owns the Mercedes dealership in Montgomery. He’s divorced, I think. I don’t know anything else. The dude really creeps me out. I’ve only met him a handful of times. Mostly when I was covering something for the church. He’s a deacon or something like that.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean puffed out his cheeks and then blew out a puff of air. “This case is driving me nuts. I don’t have any leads and no fucking murder weapon.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He said his goodbyes to Sam and his daughter and headed for the station. He’d have to get addresses for the three names the pastor had given him. Maybe one of them could shed some insight on Lilith.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Leaving the saber in </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>immigrant’s</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> house had been easy. He’d seen the deputy’s car the next morning and smiled. As soon as they had the murder weapon, he could go back to living his life. With no more blackmail payments to that bitch, he could buy some new golf clubs. Or take a </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>much-</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>neede</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>d</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> vac</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>ation away from the wife. She’d believe anything. Perhaps the Southern Baptist Convention... yes, that would be perfect.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie and Meg down at Hot and Cold know everything about everybody. I think they will know who was in Lilith’s inner circle,” Mildred said, standing. “I think you and I should drop by for some ice cream.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charlie and Meg. Hot and Cold</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> Ice cream.</span>
  </em>
  
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was lost and it must have showed because Mildred huffed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hot and Cold is an ice cream parlor and bakery. Charlie and Meg are the wonderful couple who own it. Meg was born around these parts. She met Charlie at some Star Trek convention and th</span>
  <span>ose </span>
  <span>two</span>
  <span> ha</span>
  <span>ve been inseparable ever since.” To Frank, she said, “And while we’re gone, you can work your magic and find out anything you can about Lilith’s life in Atlanta. Phone records would be nice.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Phone records? Frank, that’s illegal.” Two sets of eyes, lined with age, stared back at him like he was the crazy one. “You know what... I don’t even want to know.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The ice cream parlor slash bakery was quaint, but what surprised </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> the most was that Charlie and Meg were a lesbian couple. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In the South</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Running a successful business by the looks of things. In the time it took Meg to dip two cones for them, she’d filled them in on Lilith’s small circle of friends. “If you want to know anything about Lilith’s past, Josie Sands is your girl. And if this handsome stud here is asking the questions, she’ll talk.” She lifted a brow in </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> direction. “It might cost you a couple drinks and some footsie under the table though.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred nodded in understanding. “Gotcha. Jimmy here </span>
  <span>has to</span>
  <span> use his masculine wiles on her.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie smiled and patted his shoulder. “Something tells me he’s going to need our help in that department.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Before </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could speak, Mildred laughed softly. “Trust Charlie’s gaydar...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The three women eyed </span>
  <span>him</span>
  <span> and he was at a loss for words. “Charlie, want to coach him?” Meg asked, standing and going back behind the counter. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie stood up and grinned. “Dating 101 commencing after I get the brownies cut and displayed.” She followed her partner and began her task. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Casti</span>
  <span>el</span>
  <span> licked his cone and sighed. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Pish posh</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> Charlie will have you smooth-talking that girl in no time. Now, you have a boyfriend back home?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes... maybe.” Mick was a subject he wasn’t comfortable talking about. Not until he could sort it out in his own head.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sound too sure of yourself,” Mildred said softly, licking her own ice cream. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mick is a wonderful man. He’s successful, handsome, smart...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t love him,” Mildred supplied, gently interrupting him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I care about him and I thought I could...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fall in love,” she interjected again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How long?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Three years.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hon, if it </span>
  <span>ain’t</span>
  <span> happened by now, you should move on. Find the one person that you can’t live without.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to say he didn’t think it was in the cards for him, but movement at the door stopped him. Deputy Dean Winchester strode in, a brilliant smile on his face. Charlie practically launched herself at him and the shop owners bantered with him much </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> amusement</span>
  <span>. It was the dance, awkward and strangely adorable that had </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> eyes sparkling with amusement. The comical look on the deputy’s face when he finally noticed his audience was priceless.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred clapped and threw out a compliment to the man, while </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> took another lick of his cone. He didn’t want it to melt, after all. The underlying tension he’d picked up from the deputy wasn’t what made him do it. No, not at all. “Isn’t he a handsome one, Jimmy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Quite</span>
  <span>,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, tilting his head as if seriously critiquing the man’s dance technique. “If law enforcement doesn’t work out, he could always try exotic dance.” He swirled his tongue around the slowly melting ice cream scoop.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Like anyone would want to see that...” Meg teased, her smile taking the sting out of the words.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know... I’d put some singles in his </span>
  <span>g-string</span>
  <span>,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, laughing softly. He was enjoying the blush that was covering those beautiful cheek bones. He’d turned away to hide his embarrassment, but </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could still see how pink his ears were.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As the jiggle of the bell above the door stopped, everyone looked at </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. “What?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my God, that was...” Charlie flapped her hands excitedly. “Adorbs. Did you see him blushing? Dean Winchester never blushes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You should </span>
  <span>definitely ask</span>
  <span> him out... oh, after your date with Josie. I wouldn’t mention her on your first date. He’d think you were a man whore.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask him...” Wait, did that mean...? “But he’s got a child.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “So, that’s a deal breaker? Just because someone has</span>
  <span> a </span>
  <span>c</span>
  <span>hild?</span>
  
  <span>Tha</span>
  <span>t’s</span>
  <span> kind of shallow, don’t you think?” Her warm tone had dropped several degrees.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No...” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> hurried to explain himself. He didn’t want to get on this redhead spitfire’s shit list. “I only meant... I thought he was straight.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her expression thawed. “Dean’s bi.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, don’t you think that that’s Dean’s business?” Meg chided softly and Charlie nibbled her bottom lip.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. You’re right.” To </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>, she </span>
  <span>smile</span>
  <span>d sheepis</span>
  <span>hly</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> “For</span>
  <span>get everything I said.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As if </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could possibly forget that the man he’d had more than one sexual thought of played for his team... or least halfway for his team. A voice in the back of his mind shouted ‘Mick’. He wanted to tell the voice to go fuck himself, but he couldn’t. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s forgotten.” He took the last bite of his cone and stood. “Are you ready?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what about Dating 101?” Charlie asked and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> groaned inwardly. He’d hoped that had been forgotten.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get Frank to give Jimmy an earpiece and you can coach him,” Mildred said, standing. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> their napkins to the rainbow painted trashcan and waited at the door for her to catch up. Before they made their exit, Mildred spoke to the women. “This is on the DL. Please don’t mention it to anyone, including Dean.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie and Meg both nodded. “No problem. Our lips are sealed,” Charlie assured them.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It was great meeting you both,” Castiel said with a smile after getting Charlie’s number for ‘lessons for getting into a woman’s pants’. Not that</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going to happen.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Back on the sidewalk, Mildred was quiet. “Go ahead. I know you want to say something.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie means well.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She and Meg are both fun. No worries.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She walked a few more yards and then spoke again. “Dean is nice. Don’t you think so?” Something about her tone had </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stopping in his tracks and lowering his sunglasses.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mildred. No matchmaking.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“But...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I can’t get involved.” He sighed, looked around, and lowe</span>
  <span>red his voice. </span>
  <span>“I’m not... Jimmy Milton isn’t real and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> Novak comes with too much baggage.” Mick. Mick was part of that baggage.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” she mumbled and resumed their walk. It was muggy as most summer days in Alabama were and by the time they got home, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was hot and tired.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frank was sitting on the porch. “Damn, son, you’re sweating like a whore in church.” He laughed at </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> glare. “Got some updates on our case. The phone records proved to be very interesting.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the blissful coolness of the house, Frank filled them in. The same three numbers, all in Coosa Falls had been on Lilith’s phone bills, once a month, for the last three years. “Probably longer than that, but it’s hard to delve into </span>
  <span>archival</span>
  <span> storage that far back. The calls were all made once a month and lasted about the same time – less than five minutes.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have names?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> as</span>
  <span>k</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span>d</span>
  
  <span>after </span>
  <span>guzzling half a bottle of cold water. He stood in the refrigerator doorway letting the moisture on his skin cool him off.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We do. And this is where it gets interesting. </span>
  <span>Alistair</span>
  <span> Heyerdahl, Dick Roman, and our good pastor, Michael Milton. All members of the Coosa Falls Baptist Church.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred chimed in, “It doesn’t fit. Lilith was a floozy. I can’t see her wanting anything to do with the God squad. And to keep calling them even after moving to Atlanta... something’s fishy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> murmured, finally shutting the fridge </span>
  <span>door</span>
  <span>. He put the cold, plastic bottle to his forehead. He really wanted a shower.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you two get what you needed from Hot and Cold?” Frank asked, his eyes going from Mildred to Castiel and back again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We sure did. Jimmy needs to get a date with Josie Sands.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looked confused. “A date? With a woman?” To </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>, he muttered. “Thought men were more your speed.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> drew his face into an expression that would have brought most men to their knees. “Do I have a flashing sign above my head that says ’I’m gay’?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The older man looked amused. “I’m old, but I’m not blind, son. I’ve seen the way you look at our deputy’s butt.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> sighed. When this whole thing was over, he’d have to spend some time at the training facility. Apparently, he’d gotten lax in his undercover skills, if people could read him like that. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow starts Operation Skank,” Mildred said, getting everyone back on track. “She’ll be heading to work, but Meg told us that she drops the little one off at daycare before driving over to Montgomery. You need to be strategically in place to meet her. The hardware store is right next </span>
  <span>to the daycare. I’ll need you in your tightest jeans...” She paused to look him up and down. “It’s unfortunate that we can’t come up with an excuse for you to be bare chested.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“S</span>
  <span>top objectifying the boy, Millie.” Frank addressed </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. “You sure you can pick up a woman?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth to answer but Mildred beat him to it. “I’ll need you to get Jimmy here ho</span>
  <span>oked</span>
  <span> up with one of your secret squirrel earpieces so Charlie can talk him through it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten-four on that. When do you need it?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Early. Jimmy is supposed to meet Josie by the dayc</span>
  <span>are tomorrow and ask her for a date.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Be at my house at six, son.” Frank pushed up on the arms of the chair, hefting his bulk to a standing position. “Now, </span>
  <span>y’all</span>
  <span> excuse me, I have a date with an online game.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And I have a book club meeting tonight. See you in the morning, sweetheart.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It felt strange being in the house by himself. Frank and Mildred were larger than life and made the hours pass quickly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He checked his email, but there was no word from Victor.  He finally took his shower and changed into a pair of shorts. Since he was in his own home, sort of, he decided against a shirt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner was a tragic affair. He’d been used to Mildred and Frank feeding him amazing yet horribly fattening foods and now, he looked down at the frozen dinner forlornly. At least, he had beer to wash it down. The television utilized an ancient </span>
  <span>aerial</span>
  <span> antenna and he could pick up about four local stations. He could use his phone’s hotspot to watch something on his laptop, but he didn’t feel like getting off the couch. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He found a film about prohibition on PBS and settled in to watch, his feet resting on the coffee table. It was seven-thirty when he took a break to get another beer. As soon as he stood up, someone rapped on the door. Thinking it was either Frank or Mildred, he flung the door open.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Wide green eyes traveled over his bare torso and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> imagined he could almost feel the heat. “Deputy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Dean.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> waited a beat before stepping aside so </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean </span>
  </em>
  <span>could enter the house. “So... u</span>
  <span>h... </span>
  <span>how’s</span>
  <span> it </span>
  <span>going</span>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Why was he here? Was </span>
  <span>it</span>
  <span> official business? Did he somehow know about the saber? Christ, Cain was going to kill him if he was arrested. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get the door fixed?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Door?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> asked blankly. He caught a whiff of aftershave. Woodsy. Then it hit him. Dean wasn’t in uniform. No, he was in snug jeans, </span>
  <span>well-worn</span>
  <span> at the knee... and God did that make him warm. Very warm. The t-shirt advertised the Red Clay Brewing Company. It fit him perfectly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The back door? Glass? The break-in?” The corner of his mouth was twitching. Was the man laughing at him?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes... no, it hasn’t been fixed. Frank measured it and called someone. The replacement pane is supposed to be here Tuesday. I stuck some cardboard over it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I was just checking.</span>
  <span>”</span>
  <span> He looked around the room and the lapse in conversation, stilted as it was, seemed to drag on.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I... would you like a beer?” Stupid. He’s law enforcement. Investigating a murder. And the murder weapon was stashed in </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> house. </span>
  <em>
    <span>PleasesaynoPleasesayno</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Sounds good, Jimmy.” That name sounded strange coming from Dean’s mouth, his rich baritone drawing out the </span>
  <span>syllables</span>
  <span>, making it sound like a </span>
  <span>caress.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Be right back,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said and retreated as fast as his two feet could carry him.  He opened the fridge and took out another bottle, turne</span>
  <span>d, and stopped. Dean was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms casually crossed over his chest. </span>
  <span>He used the bottle opener mounted on the wall to pop the </span>
  <span>cap, and</span>
  
  <span>pas</span>
  <span>sed</span>
  <span> the beer to Dean. His fingers brus</span>
  <span>hed </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> and he felt a zing of electricity. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean took a long drink and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched his Adam’s apple move up and down. He wondered what Dean’s neck would taste like. Salty or sweet? When he lowered the bottle, his eyes met </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span>. The stare off seemed to last </span>
  <span>minutes but</span>
  <span> was just a few seconds. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was the first to look away. “Why are you here?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you. I was just checking up on </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> gaze dropped to Dean’s lips. He licked them suggestively and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> inhaled sharply. “You feel it too, don’t you?” He asked, taking a step closer, setting the bottle on the kitchen table.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You were flirting with me at the ice cream parlor. You flirted with me the other night. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I got my signals crossed and I’ll leave right now.” Another step closer. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I will admit that I find you attractive.” Another step by Dean and they were toe to toe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mick.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His name seemed to explode in </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> head. Dean’s eyes were intense. The man’s pupils were slightly dilated. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> wanted to say no, that he couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t cheat, not on a person like Mick, but then Dean’s lips grazed his. Tentative, asking permission. His hands came up automatically </span>
  <span>and </span>
  <span>fell comfortably</span>
  <span> on Dean’s hips. The pressure was firmer and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> wanted to open for him. God, he wanted to taste the man... devour him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He felt Dean’s hands on the bare skin of his back, the man’s pinkies dipping under his waistband. He was drowning.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> took a stumbling step back. “I’m sorry. I can’t... not now.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s expression was unreadable. His skin was flushed. “Yeah, no problem.” Then a mask seemed to drop into place. He was wearing a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Consent is sexy, right?” Dean put more distance between them. “I should go.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I...” What could he say? I have a boyfriend who I don’t want to hurt but will anyway. I want you, but I’m not Jimmy Milton. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted a hand. “No, I get it. World traveler... what would you want with a </span>
  <span>small town</span>
  <span> cop?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> shook his head. “No, it’s not...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“See you around, Jim.” And then he was gone. The air around </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was heavier... colder. He released a deep breath and ran </span>
  <span>frustrated</span>
  <span> fingers through his hair. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Picking up Dean’s unfinished beer, he turned and dumped it into the sink. He watched the foaming liquid swirl down the drain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Down the drain.</span>
  </em>
  <span>.. just like his chances with Dean now.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, he was at his laptop.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>To: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Bigblackdick@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Bigblackdick78@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>From: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>I need to get in touch with an old friend. Can you arrange that?</span>
  </b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sat back to wait, hoping Victor would respond quickly. He let his gaze wander to the ceiling. This experience was proving to be one of his toughest challenges. He’d met two wonderful people that </span>
  <span>despite</span>
  <span> having just met him, cared about him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And Dean</span>
  </em>
  <span>. In </span>
  <span>all of</span>
  <span> his years with the Agency, he’d never let himself become involved. He’d done some sketchy things, slept with enemy, and was even ‘engaged’ to the daughter of a high-ranking terrorist, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>.. not this was different.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The laptop dinged. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> swallowed and opened the email.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>To: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>From: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Bigblackdick@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Bigblackdick78@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>I’m sure with your fancy phone, you can call. I’d do it tonight, before it gets too late.</span>
  </b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Victor was telling him to use the burner phone and call soon. He knew up in the Washington office, some poor cybersecurity tech was on alert for anything suspicious. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Standing and taking the phone out to the backyard, he sent a text.</span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With unsteady hands, he made the call.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mick.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stared up into the large, stately tree that shaded most of the backyard.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still indisposed?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never called me when you’re on a mission. Should I be worried?” He’d known Mick long enough to pick up on his voice inflections. There was a smile there, but a hint of something more. Dread maybe?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mick, I care about you. So damn much.” He heard the intake of breath.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t love me. I’ve known that, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. I’d hoped...” Mick let his words die out.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I never wanted to hurt you.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> blinked at the sudden moisture blurring his vision.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Is there someone else, or...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No... yes... not really.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> smiled sadly when Mick laughed. God, he’d loved the man’s laugh.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess. I deduce that since you are on a mission, you cannot get involved with this person.” There was a pause, but </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> didn’t speak. “Ah, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>, I’ve always known you had a beautiful soul and you’d leave when you found someone worthy. I’m hurting, not just for myself, but you, </span>
  <span>A </span>
  <span>ghrá</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> closed his eyes. “You were more than worthy. Me, not so much.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid man,” Mick teased. “You have some things at my place. I will box them up for you. Should I ship them to your address?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“But I do,” Mick said softly and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> understood.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Mick.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>.” The connection was broken by Mick. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> kept the phone pressed to his ear and hated the sound of silence. He leaned against the large trunk of the tree and tilted his head back as he lowered his hand, staring at the blank screen. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why has</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>n’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>that</span>
  <em>
    <span> im</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>migrant been arrested? He’d left the saber within plain sight. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. That deputy was asking questions. Too many questions. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>For I am the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take Dean long to find the three people on the list Reverent Milton gave him. Hannah Carroll was a housewife who homeschooled her four </span>
  <span>children.</span>
  <span> The house was a modest brick home on the east side of town. He stopped the cruiser at the curb and rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. The hours were ticking by and he still didn’t have an inkling of who might have killed Lilith.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The woman was a tall </span>
  <span>brunette</span>
  <span> and was dressed in in dress slacks and a floral top. She was wearing pearls. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pearls</span>
  </em>
  <span>, during the day and not on a Sunday. “Mrs. Carroll?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Deputy Winchester. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Lilith Carrigan, if you have the time.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Lilith?” Her eyes widened. “I heard about her death, but I’m not sure I can offer any information.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>So, she wasn’t going to invite him in. No big deal. “You knew her when you were in high school... and went to youth group together at the church?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. We weren’t friends though. I wasn’t one of the pretty people, so she pretty much ignored me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you think of anyone that might have a grudge against her?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed softly. “Lilith was popular, but for the wrong reasons. She loved men. Not boys. No, high schoolers were too young and inexperienced for her taste. She used to flirt with all the men at the church. Some may have taken her up on it, but I don’t know which ones. I’ve only seen her once since she’s come back from Atlanta. She was outside after services a few Sundays ago. It was like she was waiting for someone. I never saw who and we left</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> I’m sorry I can’t really be of any help, Deputy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’ve been helpful. Thank you.” Dean touched the brim of his hat and went back to his car. One down, two to go. Alistair Heyerdahl worked at the Mercedes dealership in Montgomery, so he would have to either drive there or wait until the m</span>
  <span>an </span>
  <span>came</span>
  <span> home. </span>
  <span>Ruby Cassidy also worked in Montgomery, but he had the number for the fitness center she worked at. He dialed it. “Can you tell me if Ruby Cassidy is working today?” He asked of the perky woman who answered the phone.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. She won’t be in until tomorrow. Do you want to sign up for one of her classes? She teaches both Zumba and Spin, and we have a lot of men in each class.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe some other time,” Dean offered, shaking his head. Both of those sounded like hell. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at the address he had for her on file and put the car in drive. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The mobile home wasn’t in the best of shape and an old </span>
  <span>Volkswagen</span>
  <span> Jetta sat in the front yard. He walked up the narrow wooden steps and knocked. The blonde that answered the door was what Dean had envisioned. Lean, blonde, and killer abs. She was wearing short shorts and a sports bra. Her long legs were tan and muscular. He tipped his hat. “Miss Cassidy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Deputy Winchester and I’m here to ask you some questions about Lilith Carrigan.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What about her? She’s dead. Good riddance.” Dean schooled his expression to remain passive. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you saw her?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I avoided her.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Cassidy, you work in Montgomery. Can I ask why you live in Coos</span>
  <span>a F</span>
  <span>alls?</span>
  <span> W</span>
  <span>ouldn’t it be cheaper to find a place closer to your job?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked back inside the mobile home. “I take care of my mama. She’s an invalid.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked around the small lot. Other mobile homes were parked on either side of the narrow dirt road. “Getting back to Lilith. When was the last time you saw her?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw her at the drug store a few weeks ago. She ignored me and I ignored her.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in the church’s youth group together. Is that right?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Mama made me go. I hated it. All those men fawning over Lilith like her shit didn’t stink.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“All those men? Like who?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, like all of them. She’d wear these short dresses and no panties. She made sure to fl</span>
  <span>ash </span>
  <span>‘</span>
  <span>em</span>
  <span> the goods</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> God, it was sickening. Even the old farts sniffed around her like she was a bitch in </span>
  <span>heat. Guess it was because she was.” The woman’s laugh grated on Dean’s nerves. “I think she fucked everyone around these  parts.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone in particular?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, just anything with a dic</span>
  <span>k.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ruby, it’s time for the Young and the Restless,” a voice called from inside the home.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for your time, Miss Cassidy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” she said as she closed the door in his face. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>On his way back to town, he debated whether to drive to Montgomery to see his other contact or just wait and catch him at home. He glanced at the clock on the dash. It was lunchtime. If he left now, he could get to Montgomery and eat some ribs at Dreamland Barbeque, then go to the car lot to talk to Heyerdahl. “Sounds like a plan.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Mercedes dealership was easy to </span>
  <span>find</span>
  <span> and he parked in front of the showroom. He looked down to make sure he hadn’t dropped any barbeque sauce on his uniform before getting out of the cruiser. Inside, all eyes turned to him. Finally, a smarmy looking guy stepped forward. “Good afternoon, officer. What can I do for you today?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like a few minutes of Mister Heyerdahl’s time, please.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure... sure. Hold on and I’ll go see if he’s busy.” The man walked toward a doorway in the back and Dean looked around at the models on display. He wouldn’t trade his baby for the world, but even if he wanted to, he couldn’t afford anything here. Not with his paycheck.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The dude that walked up to Dean was tall. Like Sam tall. He had a receding hairline and it was hard to believe he was the same age as Lilith and Ruby. He looked older, more </span>
  <span>world-worn</span>
  <span>. “Mister </span>
  <span>Heyerhahl</span>
  <span>, can we talk somewhere?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this about?” The man’s eyes moved up and down Dean’s body and it sent chills up his spine. “Someone send me a stripper for my birthday or something? They sure picked a sexy one.” The laughter that followed was creepy as fuck.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sir, I’m here to ask you about Lilith Carrigan. Can we go somewhere private?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice from showing his disgust.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The smile </span>
  <span>faded</span>
  <span> and he motioned for Dean to follow him outside to the lot. The noise from the boulevard and the flapping of the brightly colored flags flying above the rows and rows of cars was going to make it hard to hear, but Dean pressed on. “Can you tell me the last time you saw Lilith Carrigan?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Lilith,” he pursed his lips and stared up at the cloudless blue sky as if deep in thought. Dean let him have his dramatics. “Well, I can’t really say... she’s only been back a short while. I’ve seen her in church with her parents a few times, but I really don’t socialize with her.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in the youth group together? Did you ever...” God, how was he going to ask this politely.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to know if I ever slept with her?” He laughed again and the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood on end. “She sure got around. Yeah, I got my dick wet with her a couple times, but her tastes moved to the older men.” He moved closer to Dean. “These days my taste runs to tighter places, if you catch my drift,” he murmured and traced a fingertip down the collar of Dean’s shirt. “Hang around and maybe we can go for a drink later on.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean moved back until his ass </span>
  <span>hit the door</span>
  <span> of a champagne colored sedan. “Not really interested, man.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a shame. I could make you scream.” His laughter followed Dean to his car. He really wanted a shower.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking gross,” he muttered as he pulled onto </span>
  <span>the </span>
  <span>Eigh</span>
  <span>ty-Five</span>
  
  <span>interch</span>
  <span>ange. He knew there were other questions he should have asked, but the guy was giving him the </span>
  <span>heebie</span>
  
  <span>jeebies</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he got back to Coosa Falls, checked in at the station, and turned everything over to Jody, he was tired. Mandy was waiting for him. “Dad, can I spend the night with Shelby?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I’d make us some burgers and we’d watch a movie,” he said as he removed his utility belt and took his gun out of the holster. He hung the belt on its hook by the front door and walked down the hall to his room to deposit the weapon in his bedside drawer.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, please? She has a pool now and her mom’s letting us order pizza.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What about working with your Uncle Sammy tomorrow?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked him for the day off,” she said, following him back toward the living room. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The day off? You just started working, Mandy. Doesn’t he have like some sort of probation period for new employees? I had to wait three months before I </span>
  <span>accrued</span>
  <span> any time off.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Sam loves me and wants me to be happy.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean crossed</span>
  <span> his arms and rolled his eyes at his daughter. “Well, next time you want money for new </span>
  <span>clothes</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> you can </span>
  <span>ask your Uncle Sammy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Daddy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, but have her mom call me when you get over there.” He knew Shelby and her parents, but he still wanted to make sure it was okay with them.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she called out as she ran to her room to pack. He sighed and went into the kitchen. Instead of the burgers, he pulled out the chicken casserole he’d made a few nights back and popped it in the microwave.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mandy slid into the kitchen, a pink backpack over her shoulder. “See you sometime tomorrow.” She came in for a hug and he kissed the top of her head. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you, baby girl.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, Daddy.” The door slammed and she was gone. He peeked out the kitchen window and watched her walk down the sidewalk. Shelby and her family only lived four houses down on the </span>
  <span>opposite</span>
  <span> side of the street. When she was safely inside, he took his dinner out and set it on the counter. Okay, so maybe five minutes was too long. While it cooled enough not to burn his tongue off, he went to his room and changed into his most comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Back in the kitchen he answered Shelby’s mother’s call and they chatted a few minutes while he ate standing up in the kitchen staring out the window. He really should remember her name since Shelby and Mandy were BFFs. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hanging up, he remained at the window. He could see a sliver of the artificial blue of pool from the corner of the house. He wondered if Mandy was swimming yet.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was unusual that he had the house to himself, and he found that boredom set in </span>
  <span>pretty damn</span>
  <span> quick. Nothing captured his attention on the television. Maybe a ride in his baby would help. He pulled the cruiser off to the side of the yard and backed the shiny, black car out of her spot under the carport. He breathed in the smell of exhaust and motor oil, smiled, and pushed a cassette into the deck. Led Zeppelin’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Immigrant Song </span>
  </em>
  <span>began to play. It didn’t sound nearly as good as the CD he had in the house, but he didn’t mind</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Without really thinking about it, he found himself on Oak Street. He slowed, his teeth worrying his lower lip. Should he risk it? “Semper Fi,” he mumbled, quoting the Marine motto. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Well, that wasn’t true. Since he became a father, he was terrified of a lot of things, mainly, something happening to Mandy. He drove the Impala into the driveway and parked behind Jim’s car. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean jogged up the porch steps and knocked. It didn’t take Jim long to open </span>
  <span>the  door</span>
  <span> and Dean held back a groan. The man was wearing a pair of cargo shorts and that was all. First his underwear and now, this. Was the man </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to kill him? He purposefully kept his eyes above the neck, and God knows that was hard to do. “Deputy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No, that wouldn’t due. This really wasn’t an official visit. “It’s Dean.” Jim seemed to have to think about letting him in his house for a second or two, but he eventually stepped out of the way. “So... u</span>
  <span>h... </span>
  <span>how’s</span>
  <span> it </span>
  <span>going</span>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t sound too sure, so Dean pressed on, putting on his best smile. “Did you get the door fixed?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Door?” Dean’s observational skills were telling him that Jim was nervous. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The back door? Glass? The break-in?” As the saying went, bless his h</span>
  <span>eart. </span>
  <span>He </span>
  <span>cou</span>
  <span>ld</span>
  <span> al</span>
  <span>most feel the tension. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sexual tension</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He sure hoped so. He really didn’t want to laugh at the man’s obvious discomfort, but it was hard to hold back.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes... no, it hasn’t been fixed. Frank measured it and called someone. The replacement pane is supposed to be here Tuesday. I stuck some cardboard over it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I was just checking.” Dean glanced around the house. He hadn’t had much time to look around the other night. There wasn’t much to show Jim lived here. Doilies and crocheted blankets were on every flat surface. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I... would you like a beer?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean met Jim’s eyes and grinned. “Sure. Sounds good, Jimmy.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Be right back,” Jim said and disappeared into the hall that led to the kitchen. Shrugging to himself, Dean followed. He leaned on the doorframe and waited for Jim to finish being the proper host. He looked damn fine in those shorts. They were loose, but Dean could still make out a nice ass and those thighs...</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim turned back around and seemed startled to find Dean standing there. Should he have stayed in the living room? Jim popped the cap off and handed Dean his beer. He made sure his fingers brushed Jim’s and cheered silently when Jim’s eyes widened.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>While he took his first swallow, he watched Jim watching him through his lowered lids. Yeah, he was interested. When he lowered the bottle, their eyes met and held. Jim looked away first and Dean was disappointed. “Why are you here?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Why was he here? That was a good question. Did he want this to turn into a o</span>
  <span>ne-nigh</span>
  <span>t </span>
  <span>sta</span>
  <span>nd</span>
  <span>? Did he want someone to hang out with? He was out of practice. “I told you. I was just checking up on </span>
  <em>
    <span>t</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>hings</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was. Jim’s glance down at Dean’s mouth. What was a man to do in this situation? He opened his mouth a bit and used the tip of his tongue to </span>
  <span>moisten</span>
  <span> his lips. The inhale was loud enough for Dean to catch it. “You feel it too, don’t you?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <span>casually</span>
  <span> took a step forward and set his beer on the table, his eyes never leaving Jim’s.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know...” Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you do, sweetheart. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You were flirting with me at the ice cream parlor. You flirted with me the other night. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I got my signals crossed and I’ll leave right now.” He moved closer, his prey in his sights.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I will admit that I find you attractive.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And you’re fucking hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. One more move and they were inches apart. Dean lowered his mouth to Jim’s and took his first taste. Jiim didn’t pull away. In fact, his hands came to rest on Dean’s hips. He wanted to deepen the kiss, but his instinct told him to go slow. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s arms moved around Jim and he rested his palms on Jim’s warm back. Damn. He dipped his littlest fingers into Jim’s shorts. God, he wanted this man. His imagination was working overtime. The two of them, horizontal on a bed... naked and wanting.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Dean’s eyes opened quickly, and Jim moved away so fast he almost fell. “I’m sorry. I can’t... not now.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem,” he said softly. What the fuck? Did he push too far? He’d thought Jim was on board. He forced a smile. “Consent is sexy, right?” He retreated and said, “I should go.” He needed to get out of here before he said or did something stupid. Or stupider than try something with someone like Jim.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Even now, the man looked sexy as fuck, but he didn’t want to hear any excuses.  He lifted his hand. “No, I get it. World traveler... what would you want wit</span>
  <span>h a </span>
  <span>small-</span>
  <span>town</span>
  <span> co</span>
  <span>p?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He had to get out of here now. Jim looked kind of sad. “No, it’s not...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“See you around, Jim.” Dean bolted for the door and ran across the yard. He all but peeled out of the driveway. His fist came down on the steering wheel in frustration. Who’d he been trying to </span>
  <span>kid?</span>
  <span> Men like Jim didn’t want someone as fucked up as he was. Especially, someone with a child. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Flooring the </span>
  <span>accelerator</span>
  <span>, he swerved through the intersection of Oak and Main. Who was going to stop him? It wasn’t like he was going to get a ticket. The gravel parking lot of the Roadhouse beckoned him. There was nothing a good whiskey couldn’t fix.</span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Since starting this story, we've had the stay-at-home and be safe thing, and I've been laid off. Unemployment isn't for sissies. But I have a new job starting soon, so I'm good. I thought I'd be writing more with all the time on my hands, but like I've said earlier, my creativity level is at an all time low. I have to take my writing moods when I can get them. On a good note, my house is the most organized it's been in years. LOL</p><p>For those that are lamenting about this slow burn, it's coming, y'all. They are going to do it real soon. I promise.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Should he make an </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>anonymous</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> call to the sheriff’s department? What is taking so long? Why haven’t they arrested him? </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Evil men do not understand justice, but those who seek the Lord understand it completely, so saith the Lord. I must pray for swift justice of those against me. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had slept fitfully, his breakup with Mick keeping his mind in turmoil. Mick was too good for him and soon he’d see that, but for now, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> knew the man was hurting. And it was all </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> fault. His life had no room for entanglements. Sex could be found </span>
  <span>anywhere</span>
  <span> and he could get by with the physical. Emotional ties were for normal people. People like Dean. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was drinking a cup of coffee before the sun rose. Footsteps on his porch had him heading for the door before Frank could knock. The older man took one look at him and said, “Damn, boy, you like something the cat dragged in.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a rough night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“This dating thing making you nervous?” Frank made his way to the kitchen and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> trailed behind.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I never get nervous about a mission.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> handed Frank a mug and watched as his friend poured the coffee. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Something else?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> wasn’t one for sharing. Not to anyone. Not since his parents had died. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I broke up with my lover last night.” He couldn’t seem to use the word boyfriend. That word hinted at something </span>
  <em>
    <span>mor</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>e</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Why he felt the need to talk to Frank about something so personal was something he’d dissect later.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Ahhhh</span>
  <span>, is it guilt or relief, or guilt that you feel relieved?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> cocked his head to the side and stared at Frank. “What? Don’t act so surprised. I lived life like you, son. We all want to have someone to come home to, but in our line of work, that wasn’t something we could allow ourselves.” Frank settled onto a chair with a sigh. “I’m sixty-five years old and alone. When they put me in a pine box, I imagine Milly will be the only one to mourn. You don’t have to have a future like that. The next mission isn’t going to keep you warm at night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> hung his head. Frank’s words hit home. Before he could respond, the front door </span>
  <span>opened</span>
  <span> and Mildred called out. “Hope you’re decent.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Another hushed voice said, “Liar. You’d pay money to see that naked booty.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You hush, girl,” Mildred said, laughing softly. Charlie followed the older woman into the kitchen. “Charlie is here to make sure you look your best. Once you are at the rendezvous point, she will be talking you through it from the getaway car.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> knew Charlie had been told this was a game they’d concocted to see if they could be amateur detectives.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I really think I can pick up a girl on my own,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said </span>
  <span>disgruntledly</span>
  <span>. He'd been on countless missions and sometimes he had to play it straight to get close to his target. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Three sets of eyes rolled heavenward. “Southern girls can spy bullshit at five hundred paces, Jimmy,” Charlie said breezily. “Now, let’s go look at your wardrobe.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed the canvas tote hanging from her right hand. “What’s that?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She held it up proudly. “This, my friend, is our emergency stash.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll leave you girls to play dress-up. I’m going home to play </span>
  <span>Fortnite</span>
  <span> until you are ready for me,” Frank said, standing. He took a tiny earpiece out of his shirt pocket and pressed it into </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> hand. “I’m assuming you know how to work one of these.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The piece was state-of-the-art, a model </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had used before. It allowed the wearer to hear from mission control and, in turn, they could hear what was going on at ground zero. Best of all, it was almost invisible.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> followed Charlie and Mildred to his bedroom. Mildred sat on his unmade bed while Charlie made herself at home in his closet. He always traveled light, so there weren’t many options available. In his walk-in at home, he had tu</span>
  <span>xedoes, </span>
  <span>suits that costs hundreds of dollars</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> and eno</span>
  <span>ugh clothing to fit in at any Washington event, from intimate dates with Mick to thousand-dollar-a-plate galas. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, I almost feel sad,” Charlie said, holding his meager selection of shirts in one hand. “Good thing I brought the emergency stash.” She hung the clothes up and strolled over to the bed. From the tote, she pulled a pair of dark jeans and a bright colored t-shirt. “Try these on.” She tossed them to </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> and he caught them in one hand. “From what we have heard, Josie likes her men on the </span>
  <span>pre</span>
  <span>tty side.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I even ask why you have men’s clothing?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> set the jeans on the bed and held up the t-shirt to read the words emblazoned on the front. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Orgasm Donor. “</span>
  </em>
  <span>I am not wearing this in public.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, she’ll think it’s funny. This is about her, not you, buck-o.” Charlie crossed her arms and tried to look </span>
  <span>intimidating</span>
  <span>. It didn’t work. She was about five feet, five inches and about one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could have taken her with one arm behind his back. Then he looked at Mildred and she had the stern mother look on her face. He frowned. He would have to wear the shirt.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Twenty-five minutes later, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was leaning against some pickup truck parked in front of the hardware store. Main Street was quiet this time of morning. Mildred and Charlie were sitting in a car three doors down. “That’s her, in the Mustang,” came Charlie’s voice in his ear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Josie Sands got out of the bright red car. Castiel watched as she opened the backdoor and reached in for the child. “Start walking toward her. Remember you are a sexy tiger, stalking his prey.” Castiel rolled his eyes and got into his role. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The toddler now on her hip, she reached for a zebra-striped diaper bag. “Let me get that for you, pretty lady.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good opening,” Charlie said.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked up at </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>, then let her eyes travel down his body. Charlie had made him wear the jeans commando and the tight denim was already chafing his inner thighs. “Thank you,” she said, passing </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> the baby. Shit, he intention was to </span>
  <span>carry the damn bag, not the kid. He held the toddler under its armpits. “I haven’t seen your around here. You visiting?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m here for the summer working on a...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped as Charlie hissed into his ear. “Book. You’re writing a book about ghosts. She reads lots of those according to Missouri down at the library.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> didn’t want to know how everyone seemed to kno</span>
  <span>w everyone else’s business.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“...bo</span>
  <span>ok a</span>
  <span>bout</span>
  <span> ghosts. Hauntings in Alabama.” Josie expression brightened.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“OMG, really? I love stuff like that.” She leaned closer, </span>
  <span>conspiratorially</span>
  <span>. “Ghosts, true crimes, all those things just give me the chills... but I like it.” She placed her hand on his forearm and held it there. “There are al</span>
  <span>l kinds of haunted places around these parts. I could show you sometime.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>That would be great</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> I’d like</span>
  <span> that.” The child began to make a keening noise and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> felt a moment of panic. He didn’t know what to do with miniature humans. “Uh, is... are...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Josie laughed and for some reason, it grated on </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “Nicky, honey, stop whining. Let this handsome man tote</span>
  <span> you.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> smiled at ‘Nicky’. “Good God, Jimmy, that’s not a smile, it’s a... just stop it.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> schooled his expression at Charlie’s words.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me get his boy into daycare before he starts wailing.” She slung the tote over her shoulder and reached for the child. He went to her easily, much to </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> relief. “He was named after Nick Saban.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” He hard Charlie and Mildred groan in his ear.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nick </span>
  <span>Saban</span>
  <span>, you know, Alabama’s football coach. Roll Tide.” Was she speaking another language? “Don’t you... You aren’t an Auburn </span>
  <span>fan</span>
  <span> are you?” Her eyes narrowed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No... just say no,” hissed Charlie.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No, not an Auburn fan.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had never felt so out of his depth. Creating a cover to infiltrate a motorcycle gang had been much easier. And for </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d had to memorize the owner’s manual for a Harley Davidson. “I just don’t watch much football.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked skeptical, so he went in for the kill. “Let’s get Nicky inside and then I’d like to talk to you about these hauntings, maybe over lunch.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I work in Montgomery, but I get off at four most days. We could do dinner.” She started toward the daycare and Castiel followed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner would be great.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Josie by the way... and what’s your name?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy... Jim. You can call me Jim.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim. I like that. Wait for me.” She winked at him and disappeared into the daycare. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you are on a roll. When she comes out, you </span>
  <span>have to</span>
  <span> get her number. Walk her to her car. Show those pearly whites, but don’t do that fake thing you did to the kid. That was </span>
  <span>freakin</span>
  <span>’ scary.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got this, Charlie,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> muttered and pasted on a smile when Josie came out of the building. “Damn, you’re beautiful.” Josie beamed at him and laced her arm through his.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sc</span>
  <span>ore,” Charlie chimed into his ear. “Good one.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At her car </span>
  <span>they</span>
  <span> stopped, and she turned to face</span>
  <span> him. “I can get a sitter for tonight.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be great.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> put his hand on the top of the convertible’s soft top, halfway boxing her in. “He</span>
  <span>y, did you know the woman that was killed?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop. Abort. Wait for wine and a nice dinner,” Charlie cried.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she whispered, smiling. “If you</span>
  <span> ask me, it was one of those church men. Alistair, Michael, and Dick </span>
  <span>were </span>
  <span>always all</span>
  
  <span>ove</span>
  <span>r</span>
  <span> her. She once tol</span>
  <span>d me that she was getting money from them to keep her from showing pictures. I think she got greedy and one of them offed her. Did you hear that she was beheaded with a sword?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, playing along. “So, she was blackmailing them?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. How do you t</span>
  <span>hink she paid for that nice apartment in Atlanta? It wasn’t from acting, I’ll tell you that. Honey, s</span>
  <span>he couldn’t act her w</span>
  <span>a</span>
  <span>y</span>
  
  <span>out of a paper bag.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know all this?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> noticed she</span>
  <span>’d lean</span>
  <span>ed closer to him. Her hips </span>
  <span>we</span>
  <span>re</span>
  <span> now touching his. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She and I go way back. We were in high school together, then stayed in touch.” She looked around again and then pressed her breasts against his chest. “A cop came around asking questions, but I didn’t tell him anything. It’s not my job, you kn</span>
  <span>o</span>
  <span>w.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, make them do their own dirty work,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> smiled down at her.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she giggled. “And I’ll bet the bitch comes back to haunt whoever killed her. Maybe like the headless horsemen, only Lilith didn’t ride horses.” She blinked and looked confused for a second, then said, “Like the headless beauty queen.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had to control his facial expressions. Rolling his eyes at her wouldn’t get him anymore information. “A headless beauty </span>
  <span>queen</span>
  <span>. That would make an interesting story. Alistair, Michael, and Dick, who are these people?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all holy rollers from the </span>
  <span>Baptist</span>
  <span> church. All goody-goody and think their shit don’t stink, but behind closed doors...” She snorted. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could feel her hand moving up and down his forearm and tried to ignore it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotcha,” he said, trying to take a step out of her grasp. Her finger latched around a beltloop and he was stuck. “Did Lilith ever feel threatened by any of the men she was blackmailing?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She tilted her head to think about it a second and then shook it. “No, I don’t think so. None of them have any balls. I mean Alistair is a </span>
  <span>sleeze</span>
  <span> and would fuck anything that gave him the time of day. He gives me the creeps. She told me he liked it rough, but I don’t think it bothered her. Dick comes off as a </span>
  <span>hardass</span>
  <span>, but I don’t think he’s scary. And the preacher, Michael, he’s just one of those fire and brimstone people that think everyone that isn’t white and perfect is going to hell.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who do you think killed her then?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>W</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>as </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>she humping his </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>l</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>eg</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yes. Yes,</span>
  <span> she was.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Hell,</span>
  <span> if I know. Someone said they think some new guy in town did it. Some Muslim.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, because we all know Muslims are trying to kill us all,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said sarcastically. In his earbud, he heard Charlie laugh.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. Right?” She sighed dramatically. “Well, I’m going to be late for work. Give me your number and we’ll make plans for tonight.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> pulled out his burner phone and purred. “Give me yours and I’ll call you, beautiful.” He typed in a series of random numbers as she recited hers. “There. Saved.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She reached up to kiss him and he turned so she caught the corner of his mouth. “See you later, handsome.” She watched her drive away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt the need for a shower.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Great job, Jimmy,” Charlie said. “Now, hurry up because I have to get to work before Meg kills me for slacking off.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He strolled down the sidewalk toward the car, his step faltering when he saw the sheriff department’s car parked in front of the newspaper office. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It didn’t mean Dean was near</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He took a deep breath and continued walking. Just as he passed the cruiser, the door to the newspaper office opened and out strode Deputy Dean Winchester. “Nice shirt,” he said in lieu of a greeting.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Dean.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Saw you cozying up to Josie. She’s pretty. Good luck with that.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, it’s not...” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> started but was interrupted.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, none of my business. I just had my signals crossed. No worries.” He strode past </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> and opened the door of the cruiser.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, wait...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my God, what’s he talking about?” Charlie’s voice screamed in his ear. “Did something happen?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you later,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said and winced as Dean looked at him in confusion.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Dean called out and got into the car. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> muttered and rushed around to the driver’s side. “Dean, about the other night. I... I wasn’t in... I had to take care of something before I could...” Crap, this was a disaster. He bit his lip as Dean stared up at him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Jim? You weren’t what? In the mood? Because from where I was standing, you were sure kissing me like you were in the mood.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A high-pitched squeal came through the earbud and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had a brief thought that he’d lose hearing in his left ear.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we talk about this privately?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked around. “Pretty private right here.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Later, can you come ove</span>
  <span>r to t</span>
  <span>a</span>
  <span>lk? Please?</span>
  <span> I’</span>
  <span>l</span>
  <span>l explain everything. I promise.” Okay, so not </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stared at him for a few more seconds and then shook his head. “Later.” He shut the door and put the car in gear, backing smoothly out of the space. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched him drive off.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You kissed. Oh my God, they kissed. This is so exciting.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped into the back seat and both women turned around to peer at him. “Spill,” Charlie said.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And he did.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they were </span>
  <span>back at Frank’s, the women knew all about Mick, sans </span>
  <span>any and all</span>
  <span> things CIA. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You broke up with him just so you could trade spit with Dean. That’s kind of romantic,” Charlie said, not leaving her car. “You will have to make him understand, so you can make beautiful gay love together.</span>
  <span>”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Charlie,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, taking the equipment from her and removing the bud from his ear. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the house, they informed Frank of their findings. “So, what else do you need from the girl?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. I think we have enough to work with. If Lilith was blackmailing men, we need to figure out who would hav</span>
  <span>e the </span>
  <span>motive and opportunity to kill her</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, no dinner date?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“God, no. She made my skin crawl.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frank laughed as he began to type on his keyboard. “While you were gone, I hacked into Lilith’s email account. Let’s get busy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With Mandy having her sleepover and his night fucked up by whatever happened at Jim’s house, Dean didn’t sleep well and </span>
  <span>was up before the sun. Three coffees later, he was sitting across from his brother bemoaning his little girl growing up. He did not share anything about the second half of his </span>
  <span>eveni</span>
  <span>ng. T</span>
  <span>h</span>
  <span>a</span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span> would give Sam fodder for his meddling. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was up refilling his coffee cup that was in the small lobby of the office when movement caught his eye. He recognized the car right away. Anything that flashy stood out in a town like Coosa Falls. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Josie</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was something about her that screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>run for cover</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Jim. All up in her personal space. Well, well, well, would you look at that. The man’s jeans looked painted on. Bet his junk was bunched like one of those trick cans. You opened it and a snake burst out, popping like a busted can of biscuits. Guess Josie was going to be handling that particular snake. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you staring at,” came Sam’s voice behind him. “Oh, the new guy. Isn’t that Josie, the she-wolf? It didn’t take him long to find the easiest girl in town. She’s looking for a baby daddy. At least, this one has a job.” He laughed and then sobered once he saw Dean’s scowl. “What’s with you?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Dean set his still full cup down on the table and hitched up his utility belt. “</span>
  <span>Gotta</span>
  <span> get to work.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, he lifted his chin and adopted his cool cop persona. “Nice shirt.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really? Orgasm Donor? </span>
  </em>
  <span>What the fuck? It didn’t seem like Jim’s style at all. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Dean.” Damn him and damn that stupid deep voice. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Saw you cozying up to Josie. She’s pretty. Good luck with that.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, it’s not...” Jim paused and tilted his head like he was listening to voices in his head. Maybe the guy was </span>
  <span>cuckoo</span>
  <span> for Cocoa Puffs.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, none of my business. I just had my signals crossed. No worries.” He needed to escape. Needed to get away from this stupid man and his stupid tight jeans. Eyes ahead, Winchester. He opened the car door, but Jim’s voice stopped him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, wait...” He wanted to get into the car and leave. Fuck, why wasn’t his body listening to him? “I’ll tell you later.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Tell me later? There wasn’t going to be a later. “Whatever.” Dean slid behind the wheel and reached for the door handle. Jim ran around the car and curled his hand around the frame.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, about the other night. I... I wasn’t in... I had to take care of something before I could...” Dean simply stared up at him. Without yanking the door out of his hand, there wasn’t much else he could do.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Jim? You weren’t what? In the mood? Because from where I was standing, you were sure kissing me like you were in the mood,” Dean snapped. A glance told him Sam was watching this whole clusterfuck through the storefront window. When had his life become a spectator sport?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we talk about this privately?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean cut his eyes away from Jim and made a point of looking up and down the street. “Pretty private right here.” Except for Sam. He knew he’d have some explaining to do later. Much later. Hopefully, never.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Later, can you com</span>
  <span>e o</span>
  <span>ver to talk? Please? </span>
  <span>I’ll</span>
  <span> explain</span>
  <span> everything. I promise.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>What was there to explain? The dude was either crazy or a slut. Dean didn’t want anything to do with either. Dean looked up at the handsome fucker and shook his head. “Later.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At the station, Dean was glad to see his request for Lilith’s phone records had gone through. He took a yellow highlighter and began the slow process of matching numbers with computer data. She’d made several calls to Reverend Milton, that asshole Alistair, and Dick Roman. The communication went back years. Interesting. He’d have to go talk to these three again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door of the church was locked, but two cars were in the lot. Dean went to the side door that he entered previously and banged on it a couple times. He waited and banged again. The lock disengaged on the other side and the Reverend himself opened it. “Oh, Deputy Winchester, how are you today?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I’m good. I do need to talk to you again though.” From behind the </span>
  <span>Reverend</span>
  <span> he saw Mrs. Alder and another familiar woman, Anna Milton. He nodded to both ladies as the door opened wider to allow him to enter. “Good morning, Mrs. Alder, Mrs. Milton.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean wondered how someone like Anna ended up with a man of the cloth. She was a looker and behind that prime and proper demeanor, Dean sen</span>
  <span>sed a wild girl just clawing to get out. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Reverend closed his office door and sat down at his big </span>
  <span>desk,</span>
  
  <span>hands clasped in front of him. “I </span>
  <span>can’t</span>
  <span> imagine anything more I can tell you, Deputy.” </span>
  <span>His</span>
  <span> smile seemed fake to Dean. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean</span>
  <span> opened the folder he brought with him and laid it out in front of the other man. “These are Lilith’s phone records. Your mobile number appears once or twice a month and that pattern goes back for the last three years. Can you explain that?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The smile faltered for an instant, but Dean caught it. “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deputy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that is easy to explain. Her parents are members of my flock and even though Lilith wasn’t in the fold, I reached out monthly to speak the Word to her troubled soul.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Her troubled soul? Can you </span>
  <span>elaborate</span>
  <span>?” Dean took out his pen and small notebook, ready to write down any clues the Reverend offered.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What is said between a man of God and his flock is confidential, Deputy. Very much like between a doctor and patient or a l</span>
  <span>awyer and his client. Surely, you can understand?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean wanted to wipe the smarmy smile off the man’s face. </span>
  <span>“Look, Reverent Milton. Lilith is dead and I’m trying to find the person who did this. Whatever she spoke to you about could be important to the case. Don’t you want to see that person caught?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, I do, Deputy, but nothing I can tell you will help find that person. Lilith had some personal demons and that is all I can say.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean stood up. “if you think of something, please give me a call.” He turned to go.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Deputy, how is the case coming along? Do you have any suspects?” At Dean’s questioning look, he went on. “It is a scary thing to know that a murderer is on the loose in our wonderful, little town.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We are narrowing it down,” Dean lied. “Thank you for your time.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Back in the car, he blew out a breath and rested his hands on the wheel. Something about Milton rubbed him wrong. Then he chuckled softly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Milton</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yeah, Jim Milton was a totally different animal. What was he going to do about Jim?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped by the diner for an early lunch. Benny Lafitte, the owner, waved at him from the kitchen pass-thru window. He settled at the counter and ordered his usual. As the bacon cheeseburger was set in front of him, Jody and he</span>
  <span>r friend, Donna, came in. Donna sold real estate and was </span>
  <span>pretty cool</span>
  <span>. Dean almost asked her out </span>
  <span>once but</span>
  
  <span>thou</span>
  <span>ght</span>
  <span> better of it. If they tanked, he’d have Jody to answer to. Jody was like a mom. You didn’t want to disappoint or get on her bad side. “Dean, how goes it?” Jody asked, taking the stool next to him. Donna sat on her other side.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I just finished interviewing the pastor again. The phone records show a lot of activity between him and Lilith. Dick Roman, and Alistair Heyerdahl.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You think one of them could be the killer?” Donna’s question was a whispered hiss.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m having trouble with this whole case,” Dean said, his </span>
  <span>appetite</span>
  <span> fading.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s because we don’t want to think about someone from our town as a cold-blooded killer,” Jody said softly. “Fingers are pointing toward that new guy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“James Milton?” Donna was shaking her head. “No, I just don’t see it. He might be a bit strange, but he is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yankee</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And they are all strange if you ask me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t him. I’d bet money on it,” Dean said, pushing his plate away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of Dean’s afternoon was spent combing through records and arranging to meet both Roman and Heyerdahl first thing in the morning.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That evening, he fixed quick meal for him and his daughter. They sat in the living room watching Cupcake Wars while they ate. Mandy’s face was pink from spending the morning in the pool. “You </span>
  <span>working</span>
  <span> tomorrow?” He asked her during a commercial.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Uncle Sam wants me to help him with some filing and some computer stuff,” she said, her eyes still glued to the television where a home cook was adding way too much tequila into </span>
  <span>an</span>
  <span> already runny batter.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. That’s good. Hey, pumpkin?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Again, her gaze was riveted to the television.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I go out for an hour or so?” Her head swiveled toward him, expression suddenly very attentive.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? You never go out at night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Yeah, I know, but I need to go see someone. It won’t take long.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone?” God, she was just like her Uncle Sammy. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim Milton, the new guy in town. Remember him? From the library.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Head turned back to the show. </span>
  <span>The</span>
  <span> same baker was adding food coloring to frosting giving it a baby-shit-green </span>
  <span>tinge</span>
  <span>. “Tell him I said hello.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Will do,” Dean responded, picking up both their plates. He put everything into the dishwasher and turned it on. Satisfied that the kitchen was clean, he locked the backdoor and reminded Mandy to call him or her Uncle Sam if she got scared. She rolled her eyes and told him that the sun didn’t set until eight o’clock.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When Dean pulled the Impala into the driveway, he had to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans. He didn’t get why he was so nervous. It was Jim that wanted to talk. He was here to listen and then walk away. Walk away and then maybe schedule a trip to Atlanta to have a one-</span>
  <span>night-stand</span>
  <span> or two.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The front door </span>
  <span>opened</span>
  <span> and he could see Jim standing there. “You got this,” he muttered to himself and got out of the car. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for coming,” Jim said, standing back to allow Dean to enter the house. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you said you wanted to explain.” Dean crossed his arms. “</span>
  <span>So,</span>
  <span> explain.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim shuffled his feet and Dean noticed the man didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. In the pockets of his cargo shorts, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt – not the same clothes as his morning with Josie.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like a beer?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, I’m good.” He wanted a couple shots of whiskey, but sober Dean was less likely to do something stupid.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, ca</span>
  <span>n you </span>
  <span>sit?</span>
  <span> Please?</span>
  <span>”</span>
  <span> Jim motioned toward the couch and Dean sat, keeping his back stiff. He didn’t want to get too comfortable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was going to walk away</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim sat in a high-backed chair and clasped his hands in front of him. “I rehearsed this several times today, but suddenly, I’ve forgotten everything I wanted to say.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s make it easy then,” Dean said, his tone devoid of emotion. “You kissed me. Then you decided it wasn’t what you wanted. Now, you want Josie. Sounds pretty cut and dried to me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not,” Jim sat up, shoulders back and chin raised. “I kissed you because I wanted to. I stopped because I wasn’t... free. I may be a lot of things, but I don’t cheat.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean narrowed his eyes. “Wait, you’ve already been seeing Josie?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jim snapped. “God, no. She isn’t even on my radar. I am... was involved with someone back home. Someone who cared about me. Someone I tried to </span>
  <span>love but</span>
  <span> couldn’t. He deserved something more. After you left, I called him and broke it off.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t want to be impress</span>
  <span>ed, a</span>
  <span>nd he sure as hell wasn’t going to show </span>
  <span>i</span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span>. “Way to go, Jim. Break up with a guy by phone. At least, you di</span>
  <span>dn’t do it by text message.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I text... Oh, you are being sarcastic. I guess it doesn’t paint me in the best light.” Jim stood. “I’m sorry. This was probably a mistake.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean leaned back, arms crossing again. “So, what’s the deal with Josie then?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I... I needed some informat</span>
  <span>ion fr</span>
  <span>om </span>
  <span>her,</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Cha</span>
  <span>rl</span>
  <span>ie</span>
  <span> said the best way to get it was flirt. I don’t... Women aren’t my...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the right equipment?” Dean furnished.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Jim said with a nod.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Did </span>
  <span>you get</span>
  <span> this ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>information’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Gonna</span>
  <span> share with the class?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough,” Dean replied. They stared at each other for a few seconds... or min</span>
  <span>utes, </span>
  <span>Dean</span>
  <span> lost track. Finally, Jim sat down again. “What now?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Jim asked, his head tilted in that inquisitive way that Dean did not find adorable at all. Adorable? That wasn’t even a word he would use to describe a man. A puppy, sure, but not a man.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What now? What do you want to happen? We cleared the air. You broke up with your boyfriend... for what? So, you could get into my pants?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s face flushed when Jim’s eyes dropped to his crotch. “Would you let</span>
  <span> me </span>
  <span>into</span>
  
  <span>y</span>
  <span>our</span>
  <span> pants?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Dean growled and this time he stood up. “You know you’re a sexy bastard and I think you are fucking with me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not... yet.” Dean saw the ghost of a smile touch Jim’s lips. Why was he even considering this? The man was keeping secrets and it had something to do with Josie. He looked to the front door and back again. “I promised Mandy I wouldn’t be gone long.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What did that even mean? What did this man have that made Dean’s brain scramble?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They walked to the door and Dean turned to speak and there was Jim, right </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Inches away. “Personal space, man,” Dean whispered but made no move to back away.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Apologies.” Jim stayed still, his eyes locked on Dean’s.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What is going on here, Jim?” At Jim’s blank look, Dean elaborated. “Is this a summer</span>
  <span> flin</span>
  <span>g?</span>
  <span> A</span>
  <span> roll in the sheets for shits and giggles? What?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I will not be here long term,” Jim said bluntly. Too bluntly for Dean’s taste.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Summer fling it is then,” Dean said, his eyes going to Jim’s mouth. Memories of that kiss made his feel warm all over. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Summer fling...” Then his mouth was on Dean’s and damn, all thought ceased. Jim’s rough stubble scratched against Dean’s cheeks and chin. The kiss was demanding. “Take no prisoners,” Dean mumbled when Jim let him up to breathe.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Take no prisoners,” Jim repeated against Dean’s mouth before he plunged his tongue inside and Dean had to hold on for dear life. He was floating... no, that wasn’t right. He was swirling out of control down a raging river. Need air... He inhaled loudly when Jim abruptly pulled away. “Go home to your daughter, De</span>
  <span>an. We will see each other again soon.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The eight minutes it took to get from Jim’s to his own house wasn’t enough time to lessen his hard-on. Glancing at his watch, he took a left instead of a right and cruised up to the Falls. Windows open, he could hear the water crashing over the rocks and splashing into the pool below. The sun would be setting soon and he needed to get home, but he shut off the ignition anyway.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim was an enigma. He’d all but written him off, but that kiss... Dean’s mind moved on to the boyfriend. Past tense. Some people would have said fuck it and taken the opportunity to get their dick wet, but not Jim. It said something about his character. Maybe that was why Dean wanted to get beneath the surface and see what </span>
  <span>made the</span>
  <span> man tick.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped out the chorus of the Fine Young </span>
  <span>Cannibals</span>
  <span> song on the steering wheel, changing the pronoun as he sang, “H</span>
  <span>e drives me crazy, like no one else. He drives me crazy, and I can't help myself.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>God, he was acting like a preteen with a crush. As he started the car, he was glad Mandy wasn’t there to see him like this. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those out of the US or those that don't follow football, there is a huge revelry between Auburn University and the University of Alabama. Living in Alabama means you have to pick one or the other, thems the rules. I'm an Auburn fan. Any other Auburn or Alabama fans out there?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>That deputy is asking too many questions. I gave them their killer. All Muslims are terrorists. Why is he still walking around among the good Christians of our town? No one misses Lilith. Even her mother and father were ashamed of her. I did the world a service. I ridded the world of a sinner, now I must do the deputy’s job for him.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched through the window as Dean’s car disappeared around the corner. The evening hadn’t gone as planned, but they’d cleared the air between them. That counted for something. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning, he strolled across the street to Frank’s and knocked. The older man opened the door and moved so </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could enter. “Saw you had company last night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are all my neighbors as nosy as you?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> strode into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Something smelled good and he sniffed the air until he got to the oven. Peering through the glass window, he grinned. “Biscuits? Are those homemade?” They were huge.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I sure as hell wouldn’t be serving up canned biscuits. My mama would roll over in her grave. These are made with buttermilk and lard.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Lard?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> made a face. His hand went </span>
  <span>automatically</span>
  <span> to his stomach. He was putting on weight and would need to go on a strict diet once he got back to DC. He might even have to spend a week or so at The Farm. That was the nickname of Camp Peary, the training center for the CIA. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t turn up your nose at me, boy. You haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve had my mama’s cathead biscuits.” Frank pushed </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> aside so that he could open the oven. The aroma intensified and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> couldn’t wait to get one of those fat bombs into his mouth. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Mildred?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> asked, taking a sip of his coffee.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Book club,” Frank answered, using a bright yellow oven mitt to take the cast iron skillet loaded with golden goodness out. He set them on the stovetop. “Get the butter out of the fridge.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> did what he was told and both men sat down at the small kitchen table. At his first bite, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was sold. “Lard, huh? These are amazing.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hear that, mama?” Frank asked the ceiling. “Another convert.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> laughed. Three biscuits later, he was holding his stomach again, but for a totally different reason. “I ate too much,” he whined.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wait until you try Milly’s fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. It’ll make you slap your mama.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother is deceased,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said softly. “And I would never...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a </span>
  <span>colloquialism</span>
  <span>, Jim.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Just then Mildred burst into the kitchen. “I think I have it narrowed down.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Frank asked, getting up to get her some coffee.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Our case. I think I know who it was.” She settled into a chair and accepted the coffee. “Well, sort of. Selma Louise, Dick Roman’s wife, is in my book club. She was telling Billie that her and Dick were at the beach with Madge and Edward, so he can’t be the killer. They didn’t come home until the next morning.” She took a sip and smiled.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is Madge and Edward?” All the names Mildred threw out were confusing. He knew the name Dick Roman from the phone records, but all the others were new to him.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Madge and Edward were Lilith’s parents,” Frank said. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. So, Roman</span>
  <span> an</span>
  <span>d his wife </span>
  <span>are</span>
  <span> o</span>
  <span>ff the list. Who does that leave?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> leaned back in his chair. “Just Michael Milton, the preacher, and that Alistair guy, right?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Mildred replied.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The preacher would have more to lose if word got out that he’d done the deed with Lilith,” Frank said, lips pursed in thought.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we going to prove it?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> asked, all the while contemplating eating another of the wonderful biscuits cooling on the plate in the center of the table.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“According to Josie, she was blackmailing them. All we have to do is find the photographic evidence.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all?” Frank said, frowning at Mildred. “How are we supposed to do </span>
  <span>that?</span>
  <span> I’d need access to her computer. I wonder if the sheriff’s department has it?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The three sat in silence, each contemplating their next step.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Mildred pushed her chair back with a sigh. “We need to find out. Jimmy, can you ask Dean if they have it?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? Why me?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Because, hon, you’ve shared a kiss. You are connected now.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“More than one,” Frank interjected. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> shot him a look that said shut up, while Mildred grinned.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I forgot about last night. He didn’t stay long. Did you fix things?” Mildred looked at him expectantly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Were both of you staring out your window being nosy?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s romantic. You and our town’s most </span>
  <span>eligible</span>
  <span> bachelor. The single women are going to be pissed off,” she said, laughing softly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t...” He blew out a breath. He wasn’t going to lie, not to Mildred and Frank. “I don’t know if romance is in the cards. I’ll be leaving once the price on my head is alleviated</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> I have a job and am barely home. I don’t think a serious relationship is possible.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of operatives have lives outside the job, son. Husbands, wives, children. It doesn’t have to be either or,” Frank said quietly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In his head, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> knew what Frank said was correct. Even Director Cain had a family.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get back to the case,” he said to take the attention off him and Dean’s relationship.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had access to her computer, I’d be able to find proof,” Frank said. He stood up and removed the plate of biscuits. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched them go with sadness. He should have gotten another one.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I could ask Dean,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said. It would give him an excuse to see the man again and arrange for something involving a bed and Dean’s naked body. Besides, once that image was in his head, he was useless in their conversation.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once he was showered and dressed, he sat down at the laptop and checked for any news from Victor. Nothing. There was an adage that </span>
  <span>says</span>
  <span> ‘no news is good news’. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> wasn’t feeling that now. He was reluctantly involved in a murder investigation and there was no word on the people who wanted him dead. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Surely, something positive could happen</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Someone banged on the door and he narrowed his eyes. He didn’t </span>
  <span>believe</span>
  <span> in </span>
  <span>divine</span>
  <span> intervention or coincidences. He saw a man’s outline through the lacy curtains Missus Howell was fond of since she’d put them over every window in the house.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said with some surprise when he opened the door. “Is there a problem?” Dean was in uniform. Had he somehow found out about the hidden sword?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t I just stop by and say hi?” The man’s smile could be considered a </span>
  <span>lethal</span>
  <span> weapon. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> continued to stare at that beautiful mouth and the seconds ticked by. Finally, Dean laughed. “You going to invite me in, or let the neighbors have a free show?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred and Frank had probably already noticed the sheriff’s cruiser parked in front of his house, so the part about the neighbors didn’t faze him, but the free show comment made him open the door wider. As soon as it was closed behind him, Dean took off his hat and began unbuckling his utility belt. “Uhm,” </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> knowledge of the English language </span>
  <span>left him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you have some food, because I’m starving,” Dean said over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Food</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked at the antique clock on the mantle. It wa</span>
  <span>s twelve. Lunchtime. Dean was spending his lunch hour here. With him. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting a </span>
  <span>no</span>
  <span>one</span>
  <span>r</span>
  <span>.</span>
  
  <span>Castie</span>
  <span>l</span>
  <span> wasn’t </span>
  <span>sure to be relieved or disappointed. Who was he kidding?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly following Dean to the kitchen, he was confronted by Dean’s perfect ass. The man was bent over inspecting the meager contents of his fridge. “Dude, this is sad,” came his muffled voice. “Wait, what’s this?” He stood up and turned, holding a covered plastic bowl.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mildred’s chicken and </span>
  <span>dumplings</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit? That’s awesome,” Dean said with obvious enthusiasm. </span>
  <span>Dean</span>
  <span> set the bowl on the counter and rummaged through the cabinets until he found a pot. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>, still in some sort of vegetative state, merely observed the deputy taking over his kitchen. If Dean noticed his lack of social grace, he didn’t mention it. No, the man was humming as he dumped the contents into the pan and turned on the stove. “She rolls them out like you’re supposed to... none of the lumpy drop kind that some people do. I mean, it’ll do in a pinch, but this...” he held up a wooden spoon where a long dumpling resided. “... this is perfection.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I should set the table,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, finally remembering how to truly articulate words.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You do that, Jim. And since I didn’t see any sweet tea in that bare </span>
  <span>monstrosity</span>
  <span> you call a refrigerator, I’ll settle for some water. Lack of sweet tea could be a </span>
  <span>deal breaker</span>
  <span> in this budding...” He waved the spoon around. “... what did we decide? Oh, yeah, summer fling.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet tea. Got it.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> set two plates on the table and then got the forks out of the drawer. He added two bottles of water. Dean was still humming as he stirred the meal. He’d tasted chicken and dumplings for the first time just two days ago. Apparently, it was a Southern staple. He’d mentally added it to the growing list of food that he secretly loved. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They ate in silence, with </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> covertly studying Dean when he could get away with it. Dean sometimes caught </span>
  <span>him</span>
  <span> and his lips would twitch in a semblance of a smile. When Dean pushed his plate away and patted his stomach, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> also set his fork down. “That was mighty fine, Jim.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I will inform Mildred you enjoyed it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I got twenty minutes left of my lunch hour,” Dean said after glancing at his watch. He lifted a brow and waited for </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> response.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What could we do in t</span>
  <span>wenty minu</span>
  <span>tes</span>
  <span>?”</span>
  
  <span>Cast</span>
  <span>iel</span>
  <span> asked, playing along.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean pooched out his lips and hummed before speaking. “Well, I did make you lunch. A blowjob wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibilities.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I provided the food though,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, nodding at the empty plastic bowl by the sink.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>So</span>
  <span> you did.” He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. “Mutual blowjobs might make me late, but quick and dirty </span>
  <span>hand jobs</span>
  <span> might work.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be definitely be a better use of the limited time.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> tilted his head in an invitation for Dean to make the first move.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The kitchen?” Dean asked, looking around as if gauging the strength of the countertops.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Unsanitary,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stated matter-of-factly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s chair scraped across the old linoleum and he stood. “Bedroom it is.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stood as well, the butterflies in his stomach dancing like they were at a rave. He led the way to the room he’d been sleeping in, wincing at the unmade bed. “I didn’t know anyone was going to visit.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You show most of your visitors your bedroom, huh, Jim? I feel kind of cheap.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Dean.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> moved forward and wrapped his hands around Dean’s wrists, pulling him forward. He let his eyes close as his mouth came </span>
  <span>down</span>
  <span> on those lips that have been driving him crazy. He heard a groan from one of them but didn’t care whose it was. Dean kisses like a man with a purpose and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> would be happy to keep this up for hours. The infuriating man had other ideas though and gently pulled away. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> eyes open slowly, like waking from a wonderful dream. Instead of the expected amusement, Dean’s expression is contemplative. “You’re good at that,” he says softly, his hands still gripping Castiel’s waist. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“As are you,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> whispers </span>
  <span>back.</span>
  <span> The stare lingers longer than it should. He wants to look away from the </span>
  <span>intensity but</span>
  <span> can’t. A spring meadow? No, the rich green of the grass that grows near a river. Vibrant.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean </span>
  <span>visibly</span>
  <span> shakes himself and grins. It looks forced. Was he just as affected by the kiss as </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>? “We’re wasting time. Time we’re supposed to be using to get each other off.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of replying, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> broke eye contact to unbutton Dean’s shirt, pushing the sides apart. Tan skin called for his touch, but he had more pressing matters and a time constraint. He moved lower and unsnapped Dean’s uniform pants. The sound of the zipper is loud in the quiet of room. When he reached inside, Dean moaned as </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> hand </span>
  <span>wraped</span>
  <span> around the thick, hard cock. “Mutual...” Dean murmured and fumbled with the waistband of his jeans, but </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had enough brain cells left to bat his hand way. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Time isn’t on our side,” he whispers against the skin of Dean’s neck. He smelled of aftershave and something that was strictly Dean. “Let me...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean huffs his disappointment but uses his energy to shove his own pants and boxer briefs down to midthigh. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looks down at the cock in his fist. Dean’s cut, unlike himself. The head a dusky purple with a bead of precum pooling at the slit. He wants to taste. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His worst enemy </span>
  <span>at the moment</span>
  <span>. Using his thumb to capture that droplet, he began to move his hand up and down, using the techniques he, himself, liked. Twisting his wrist so that his palm gives friction to the sensitive underside of the glans. Dean’s breathing is faster now and a part of </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> wants to watch his beautiful face, but the baser part of him is fixated on what he’s doing. “Jim... Jesus...” Dean’s grip on his sides is borderline painful, but </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> relishes it. It is keeping him from coming in his pants like a teenage boy on prom night.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <span>gonna</span>
  <span>...” Only then did </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> look up. Dean’s head was thrown back, his mouth open, breath coming in harsh bursts of air.  His eyes were </span>
  <span>closed,</span>
  <span> and the skin of his face was flushed. Instead of </span>
  <span>camouflaging</span>
  <span> his freckles, it made them stand out even more. “God... I’m...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s whole body seized as he climaxed. Jets of cum splashing on </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> jeans and the floor between them. The sticky hot fluid gave added lubrication to </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> hand and he continued to move his fist until Dean hissed. He released the softening cock and stepped back, wiping Dean’s release on his denim clad thigh. They’d have to be laundered anyway. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as the man in front of him began to collect himself. Eyes blinked open, his breathing, still harsh, began to slow, and he rolled his shoulders, probably tense from having to remain standing while coming. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could imagine how weak the man’s knees would be. How liquid his muscles would feel. That gaze finally landed on him </span>
  <span>and </span>
  <span>his</span>
  
  <span>smil</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span> wasn’t as cocky as usual. “What’s sixty-eight?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Perplexed, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> simply stared. Dean grimaced as he pulled up his underwear and pants and started buttoning his shirt. “Wish I had time for a shower,” he mumbled. Then he shrugged. “It was a joke, Jim. What’s sixty-eight? You do me and I’ll owe you one. Get it?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> rolled his eyes. “I think that applies to oral sex, Dean.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s morning started with an interview of Dick R</span>
  <span>om</span>
  <span>an. He had </span>
  <span>a</span>
  <span>n</span>
  <span> iro</span>
  <span>nclad alibi. During the murder, he was in Gulf Shores with his wife </span>
  <span>and</span>
  <span> the </span>
  <span>Carrigans</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He dreaded his talk with Alistair, but it had to be done. Dean had basically forced the man to take the morning off work for the interview. He gave him a choice, the station or his home. In retrospect, Dean shouldn’t have given him an option. Being alone in the man’s house was something he dreaded. The man was creepy as fuck. Dean had no doubt he could handle any </span>
  <span>situation, but</span>
  <span> fighting off a handsy asshole wasn’t something he wanted to do.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The house was nice enough. Not as </span>
  <span>opulent</span>
  <span> as Roman’s, but in a nicer neighborhood than Dean’s. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He strode up the walk, adjusting his utility belt at the door before ringing the bell. Alistair opened it moments later. “Good morning, Deputy. Won’t you come in?” He stood aside and Dean entered the home. It had an open floorplan and Dean looked around at the large living room, a huge granite island separated it from the kitchen, and along one wall sat an oak dining set with eight chairs. “Would you like something to drink?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I just have a few quick questions,” Dean said, facing him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we sit?” Alistair said, indicating the plush sofa.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Mr. </span>
  <span>Heyerdahl, we have Lilith Carrigan’s phone records and...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Alistair sighed loudly. “And you’re wondering why </span>
  <span>my numb</span>
  <span>er kept </span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span>howing</span>
  
  <span>up monthly. Correct?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You led me to believe you hadn’t had contact with her in a long while.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Deputy, Lilith was a mental case. We had sex a few times and she took pictures. I was young and stupid, and pretty much didn’t care. It wasn’t like today when shit shows up on the Internet. Anyway, skipping ahead a few years, I get an envelope in the mail with those pictures in it. The letter said that if I didn’t give her some cash, she’d make them public. I paid her, but like all blackmailers, she didn’t go away. Did I want to keep those pictures private, sure, but not enough to kill her over them.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You were a kid. I doubt anyone would care about seeing them now.” So, Lilith was black</span>
  <span>mailing </span>
  <span>people</span>
  <span> and someone got fed up enough to kill her. This information could break the case for him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He gave Dean a wry smile. “Deputy, even back then, I was a kinky bastard. Some of those things would make the ladies of my church clutch their pearls and faint.” Dean’s imagination took a nosedive. “Would it destroy my </span>
  <span>career?</span>
  <span> Probably not, but despite my sexual </span>
  <span>proclivities</span>
  <span>, I’m a believer and enjoy the position of deacon in my church.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you kept sending her money... how much are we talking?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It started out as a few hundred every couple of months, but then over the years, it steadily went up to a thousand a month. She was a smart one. I know she had a few more on the hook. She never asked for a huge amount so someone would go to the cops. She was a parasite.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who else was she blackmailing? Any idea?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Dean believed him. He was still a smarmy bastard, but he was telling the truth.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nodded. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Heyerdahl.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call me Alistair, Deputy Winchester.” And there it was, that creepy smile. Dean took a step toward the door. “Perhaps we can get a drink sometime.”  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not going to happen,” Dean stated firmly. When the door shut behind him, he swore he heard Heyerdahl laughing. “Asshole.” Visions of being tied to the man’s bed, being spanked, and forced to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> made the bile rise in his throat. As he checked back in with Linda, he noted the time. “I’m taking lunch,” he told her and signed off.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sat in front of Jim’s house a good five minutes before getting up his nerve. “You got this, you sexy thing,” he murmured before getting out of the cruiser. He plastered an easy grin on his face and knocked. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Looking back, Dean was proud of himself for keeping his cool. He had Jim flustered and it showed. That alone gave him the confidence to take a simple lunch to a fucking </span>
  <span>handjob</span>
  <span>. He was feeling guilty about getting off since Jim wouldn’t let him touch, but duty called. He would make sure to give Jim the best head he’s ever had... and soon. He didn’t even get to see Jim’s dick. Oh, he saw the outline and damn, the man was hung like a racehorse, but was he cut? Did he manscape? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At the station a few minutes later, Dean pushed his afternoon delight out of his mind and started to compile his evidence. There still wasn’t a murder weapon, but his list of suspects had been narrowed down to one. Reverend Michael Milton. But he needed proof.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When Jody clocked in at five, he filled her in, and then he told her his plan to watch Milton. Leaving, Dean called Mandy. “Hey, Sunshine.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Daddy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I need you to stay with your Uncle Sam tonight. I have a stakeout.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“A stakeout? In Coosa Falls? Is this about that lady’s murder?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. Be good for your uncle, okay?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a </span>
  <span>delinquent</span>
  <span>, Dad. Jeez.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, baby girl.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too, Daddy.” They said their goodbyes and Dean stared at the photo of his child on his phone. It was taken years ago, but he kept transferring it to each new phone he got. She’d been eight. Grinning at the camera, pigtails making her look even younger. She was standing next to the bicycle she’d gotten for her birthday. A soft smile touched his face. He sighed and lay the phone on the seat beside him. It was time to do his job. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>First things first, he traded out the cruiser for Sam’s SUV. It was less conspicuous than the Impala. He parked a half block from the clergyman’s house. The garage was </span>
  <span>open</span>
  <span> and Dean could make out two cars. According to the DMV, those were the only ones registered to the Miltons. He leaned back to wait. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughts turned back to Jim. The man could </span>
  <span>kiss,</span>
  <span> that was for damn sure. Dean would bet his next paycheck that Jim was a wildcat in bed. Was he strictly a top? Yeah, Dean picked up on the dominate role he’d played briefly. Dean was a switch. Though he’d only had one lover penetrate him. It was a trust thing. That didn’t mean he didn’t play with toys. He loved the feeling of a thick dildo in his ass. He shifted in the seat. “Mind on the job, Winchester,” he muttered, his eyes on the garage. Lights were on in the house now, since the sun had set. The clock on his dash showed nine-thirty. He was beginning to doubt Milton would be going anywhere. This was probably a waste of time. He’d get Rufus to ask the county judge for a warrant to search the man’s house tomorrow. He needed that murder weapon.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Bored and tired, Dean was ready to turn the key in the ignition when one of the cars backed out of the garage. Eleven was a little late for prayer services. Without turning on the headlights, Dean followed the car down the road. It was headed down Oak Street. Dean frowned when it slowed and stopped a few houses down from Jim’s place. He saw the interior light come on as Milton exited the vehicle. Expecting him to use the sidewalk, Dean was pissed to have lost sight of the man. Where the fuck </span>
  <span>did</span>
  <span> he </span>
  <span>go</span>
  <span>? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Checking his sidearm, Dean took off at an easy lope down the street. At the Reverend’s car, he paused long enough to take in the surrounding yards. In between the homes, the </span>
  <span>streetlights</span>
  <span> didn’t offer any respite from the darkness. Milton could have gone anywhere. Cursing at himself, Dean headed toward Jim’s house. Did that break-in have anything to do with the murder? What was the connection? Or had Frank ruffled Milton’s feathers? But no, if he’d been going to Frank’s, Dean would have seen him cross the road. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim’s house was dark, as was most of the homes on the street. Dean crept up the steps to the front porch and silently opened the screen door. He leaned his head against the glass pane and listened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Letting the door shut softly, he rounded the side of the house. His flashlight would have made his job easier, but he didn’t want to risk it. He stumbled over a </span>
  <span>hydrangea</span>
  <span> bush, cursing softly. He turned the last corner and he was in the back yard. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was a small back porch and as he moved closer, he saw the door open, a pane of glass broken out. “Deja vu,” he said softly and jogged up the steps. He’d made it to the door when the shot rang out. “Fuck,” he growled and entered the house, gun in hand. Inside, Dean risked calling out, “Jim?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Someone shoved him and he winced as his knees hit the floor. “Dean?” Jim’s voice came from the hall. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay there,” Dean called out and was kicked in the ribs for his trouble. He grunted at the </span>
  <span>impact but</span>
  <span> kept his grip on his gun. He couldn’t see enough to get a clear shot. He couldn’t risk firing wild and hitting Jim. “</span>
  <span>Milton,</span>
  <span> give it up.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s the killer, deputy. The murder weapon is here, in this house.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the kitchen light came on and Dean froze as Jim rolled through the door like a fucking ninja, a Ruger expertly held in a two-handed grip. “Drop your weapon,” he snarled and only then, did Dean look at Milton. In his hand was a revolver, pointed down at Dean. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Confess to the crime or I’ll kill him,” he roared. </span>
  <span>Dean noted how the handgun shook slightly.</span>
  
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You killed her because she was blackmailing you,” Jim said, his stance not wavering. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She was evil, a demon in a temptress’ body. You are the one that must die for her sins,” the barrel of the gun rose to lock onto Jim. He didn’t even flinch. If anything, his eyes grew colder, lethal. Jim Milton wasn’t some writer. No, he was something else. Everything was a lie. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A lie</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was in bed, his computer </span>
  <span>screen</span>
  <span> the only light. He read Victor’s email twice.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>To: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Blueeyedhoneypot@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>From: </span>
  </b>
  <a href="mailto:Bigblackdick@gmail.com">
    <b>
      <span>Bigblackdick78@gmail.com</span>
    </b>
  </a>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <span>It’s heating up and the wife is worried about our air conditioner.</span>
  </b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In Victor’s code, the wife meant Director Cain. Heating up was code that they had intel o</span>
  <span>n Akhtar Zahed. Air conditioner probably referred to the team tasked with making sure he doesn’t get stateside and close to </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was about to reply when the tinkling of glass being broken made his fingers freeze on the keyboard. His training kicked in and he had his gun in hand within seconds. His bare feet made staying silent easier. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A shadow moved in the kitchen and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> raised his gun. “Who...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The shot was wild. It hit the wall five feet from where </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> crouched. He couldn’t get a clear shot from this angle and as he took a silent step forward, he heard the </span>
  <span>back door</span>
  <span> bang open. “Jim?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What was Dean doing here? There was a scuffle and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> risked giving away his position. “Dean?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay there.” Then came the sound he’d heard before, something hitting soft flesh. There was a grunt of pain. “</span>
  <span>Milton,</span>
  <span> give it up,” Dean said, and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> heard the pain in his voice. He’d also told </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> who his intruder was. He was surprised the preacher had the balls to come here. Killing someone out of fear or passion was different than premediated murder.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s the killer, deputy. The murder weapon is here, in this house.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had to act fast. He </span>
  <span>swung</span>
  <span> around the corner, hitting the light switch, and rolling into the kitchen coming up into firing position. “Drop your weapon,” he said coldly as he took in the scene. Milton held a gun pointed directly at Dean. Milton just made it personal. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could kill the bastard without any regret whatsoever.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Confess to the crime or I’ll kill him,” Milton growled. The man’s gun hand was shaking and it calmed </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> jangled nerves. Milton wasn’t a threat, not to </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. Dean was the wild card though. Would he attempt to disarm the man? </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You killed her because she was blackmailing you,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, his voice cool. He needed Milton to take aim at him, not Dean. He was </span>
  <span>definitely unhinged</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> had lots of experience with unhinged people.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She was evil, a demon in a temptress’ body. You are the one that must die for her sins.” There it was. The gun barrel was aimed at him now. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> took in the sweat on the man’s upper lip, the wildness of his eyes, and his trigger finger. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t want to kill anyone else,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said slowly, his own finger tightening against cool metal. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s hard façade slipped and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> saw the confusion in his eyes. “Reverend, put down the gun. Please.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t be punished,” he </span>
  <span>whispered,</span>
  <span> and the gun wavered. “I can’t...” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched the gun turn, not toward Dean, but to the preacher. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do this,” Dean said softly, he’d moved to his knees while </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was watching Milton. His hands were out like he was trying to calm a cornered animal. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes wild, he pointed his gun at Dean again. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> reacted. The shot sent the man’s revolver flying. He cried out and grabbed his hand, blood pouring onto the floor. Dean was up and had him </span>
  <span>against the counter, uninjured arm behind his back. “Michael Milton, you are under arrest for the murder of Lilith Carrigan. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and have them present while questioned. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be assigned to you...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> rolled his shoulders and lowered his own weapon as Dean finished reading Milton his rights. He would have some explaining to do and it meant his cover would be blown. He’d have to make a call to Victor. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“County, this is Deputy Winchester, I have a murder suspect in custody and am requesting </span>
  <span>an ambulance</span>
  <span>...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Again, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> tuned out. Cain was going to have a shit fit. He’d been told to keep his nose clean, but no, he’d gotten involved with a man who hacked into computers for fun, a murder investigation, and for the cherry on the fucking sundae, he had the murder weapon in his closet. “Jim... Jim?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> eyes flew to Dean’s. He’d wrapped a kitchen towel around Milton’s </span>
  <span>hand</span>
  <span> and it was already stained scarlet. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> wondered briefly if he’d taken off a finger. He hoped so. The sorry bastard shouldn’t have aimed his gun at Dean. “I’ll need some answers.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Milton had been sobbing softly, whether in pain or because he’d been caught, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> didn’t know or care, but he turned cold eyes toward him. “</span>
  <span>For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Dean spat out and jerked him to one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled out his cuffs and within seconds, Milton’s good hand was attached to the chair. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of sirens filled the air. Someone banged on the front door. Dean looked from Milton to </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>. “Let ‘</span>
  <span>em</span>
  <span> in.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> tucked his gun into the back of his waistband and headed to the door. A female deputy stood on his porch. He opened the door wide and pointed toward the kitchen. “They’re back there.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a long, pensive look before striding to his kitchen. Before he could shut the door, Frank and Mildred were coming up the walk. “What the hell is going on? We heard a shot and now...” Frank waved his hand at the flashing lights on the deputy’s car.  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Milton came for me. Then Dean showed up. I had to shoot him.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean?” Mildred gasped.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Milton,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said irritably. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you kill him?” Frank asked, trying to peer around Castiel.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just shot the gun out of his hand. Probably took off a finger or two.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frank nodded. “Good deal.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim. A word.” Dean was standing in the hall behind him, his expression grim. When Frank and Mildred made no move to leave, Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, “Alone.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Back here,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, leading him toward his bedroom. Visions of their lunchtime tryst hit him hard and he swallowed. This probably wasn’t the best place to be questioned and by Dean’s glance at the place where they’d stood, he probably agreed. “Dean...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he mean by you having the murder weapon?” So, that’s the way this was going to go. All </span>
  <span>professional. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could handle that.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“The day my back window was first busted out</span>
  
  <span>–</span>
  <span> I suspect Milton broke in and he left an antique sword. I knew the victim had been killed by a long knife of some sort and put two and two together.” He left Frank and Mildred’s names out of it. “I knew, </span>
  <span>being new in town, that I could be a potential suspect, so I hid it until I could do some digging...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Of all the stupid...” Dean snarled and ran his hand through his hair. “I could charge you with...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Impeding an investigation... tampering with evidence... I know the drill, Deputy,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> snapped back.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just bet you do,” Dean said coldly. “What are you? FBI? ATF?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a CIA operative.” Dean’s reaction was to look up at the ceiling, lips in a tight, straight line.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is a CIA operative in my town? What’s your business here?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s eyes snapped back to his. “Deputy Winchester.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deputy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m on leave. That’s it. I’m not infringing on your territory.” Dean looked like he didn’t believe him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, if I were to run your prints, it wouldn’t come up as Jim Milton, would it?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“If you ran my prints, it would send an alert to Washington and you’d be getting a call to back off.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re good at your job, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jim</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because you had me fooled.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, what happened between us...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t get to go there.” He ran his hand through his hair again, eyes every</span>
  <span>where</span>
  
  <span>but on </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> “Where’s the sword?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said and stepped to the closet door. He took a t-shirt off a hanger and used it to pick up the sword on the top shelf. He handed it, t-shirt and all to Dean.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hope you protected any evidence,” Dean muttered.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not stupid,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> growled. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Another siren could be heard and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> figured it would be the ambulance. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know. Don’t leave town.” Then he was gone. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> remained standing in his bedroom. The adrenaline high was abating. He sank down on the bed. He knew better than become involved on assignment. He fucking knew better. Technically, he wasn’t on assignment, but still, he shouldn’t have formed any friendships... or whatever had happened between him and Dean.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim... </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span>?” Mildred and Frank stood in the doorway. He looked up but didn’t speak. “They roped off your kitchen and Jody took Milton off in an ambulance. Are you okay?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He schooled his expression. “Yes, I’m fine. Tired. So, if you’ll excuse me.” He stared pointedly at them, willing them to leave. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Involvement</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He couldn’t afford it. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see you at breakfast. I’m cooking,” Mildred said softly. They both turned and left. He waited for the sound of the front door closing before closing his eyes. He allowed himself to wallow for a minute and then picked up his phone off the nightstand.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Henricksen.” His voice sounded sleepy. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> looked at the old clock radio. It was nearly three a.m. in Washington.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want the bad news or the bad news?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Christ, Novak. What have you done?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It took forty-five minutes to tell Henricksen the story. It would have taken a lot less time had the other operative not interrupted with expletives every few minutes.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> slept fitfully and was awakened by a shrill ringtone. “Novak,” he said groggily.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold for Director Cain,” a pleasant voice told him. He sat up, preparing himself for an ass-chewing.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Novak, I sent you to Bumfuck, Alabama to stay safe. I expected boredom, but no, you had to get involved in a murder. A fucking murder. I’ve been on the phone with some wiseass sheriff named Turner and got his promise to leave your name out of this whole clusterfuck, but Jesus Christ, Novak, I ought to drag your sorry ass to a safe house and keep you locked up with fucking armed guards.” Cain’s tirade </span>
  <span>came to an abrupt end</span>
  <span> and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> heard his sigh through the phone. In a softer tone, he said, “Henricksen thinks we should move you somewhere else. What do you think?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stared down at the faded bedspread and plucked at a loose thread. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Involvement</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Everything in him was screaming to get out of Coosa Falls. “I’d like to stay here, Sir.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten-four. I’ll let Henricksen know. And Novak, keep your head down.” There was no goodbye. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> set the phone down and rubbed his tired eyes. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as he thought. He suspected Director Cain had a soft spot for him, but he’d never say that out loud.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He knew going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen, so he stretched and got out of bed. The shower didn’t help with his energy level and after an internal debate, he dressed and headed for Mildred’s. The back of his brain kept repeating </span>
  <em>
    <span>involvement </span>
  </em>
  <span>over and over, but he’d chosen to ignore it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At his knock, Frank opened the door. “You look like shit.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel that way,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> mumbled. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Frank’s hand giving his shoulder a warm squeeze made him feel almost whole again.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mildred met him at the kitchen doorway and his arms were filled with her warmth. She pulled back and patted his face. “Oh, hon, I’m so glad you are </span>
  <span>safe</span>
  <span> and that horrible man has been arrested.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Mildred,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> whispered and allowed himself to be led to the table. It was piled high with food. Bacon, scrambled eggs smothered in cheese, a bowl of those things called grits that he’d come to like, and a mound of buttered toast. A cup of coffee was pressed into this hand. He inhaled the heady aroma and smiled. “Is this a bribe to get me to spill the juicy details?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Mildred said with a laugh.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He left out the part of the story that took place with him and Dean in his bedroom. The look of betrayal, the harsh words, the cold green eyes. No, that was private.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that the mystery is solved, what are we going to do for fun?” Mildred said, spreading jelly on a piece of toast.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been ordered to lay low.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Orders from the top?” Frank asked, his brow furrowed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. My boss wasn’t very happy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll get over it,” Frank said decisively. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s do something fun,” Mildred said, slapping her hand on the table. “We can go to the Montgomery Zoo. I haven’t been there in ages.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Zoo?” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> gave her a quizzical look. “You know I’m not seven, right?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, pooh, no one is ever too old to see animals. I heard they have a new baby elephant.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was no arguing with the woman and plans were made to go to Montgomery the following day. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> helped clear the table and load the dishwasher. When the kitchen was clean, he made his excuses to go back to his house. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Frank walked him to the door. He stood with his hand on the knob, preventing </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> from opening it. “Look, son, I saw Dean last night and I don’t mean to get in your business, but it looked like he was hurting.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> held up his hand. “Stop, Frank. He was pissed about being lied to. We were barely a thing. He’s fine. I’m fine.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Sure</span>
  <span> you are. You’ve got a complete set of luggage under those eyes of yours.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> opened his mouth to argue, but Frank continued, “I’m not a fool. You are a trained operative. Last night’s going-</span>
  <span>ons</span>
  <span> with Milton wouldn’t have made you work up a sweat. Something else gave you a sleepless night. You might want to think on it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> exhaled slowly and nodded. Once he was inside the house, he allowed himself to think about Dean. There’d been something about the man. Sure, he was gorgeous, but there was more to Dean Winchester than good looks. He was a single dad and that should have been a turn-off, especially in </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> line of work, but for some reason it drew him closer. What would it be like to have a </span>
  <span>child?</span>
  <span> Cain was married. There was a picture on his desk of a pretty woman and two young adults. Personal stuff wasn’t talked about, so he’d never asked their names, ages, or what they wanted to be when they grew up. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When the knock came, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> realized he’d let the day go by watching daytime television. He looked through the curtains before he opened the door, a police cruiser was parked at the curb. He took a deep breath. “Hello, Deputy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim.” He said the name like an insult.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed all his orders aside and said, “It’s Castiel.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim’s easier to pronounce.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess your last name would be too much to ask.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Novak.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> shuffled from one foot to the other. If Dean noticed, he didn’t say anything. They stared at each other silently and the seconds ticked by.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Dean hooked his thumbs in his utility belt and said, “Sheriff Turner got a call in the wee hours of the morning from your boss. Rufus wasn’t impressed at being woke up.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you expect me to apologize?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I was just saying...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Why was Dean here? “Why are you here? Do you have more questions?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Rufus said to leave you alone. Your boss told him you could be deposed when Milton goes to court and that would be enough.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, why are you here?” He repeated calmly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scratched the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable. “I don’t even fucking know, man.” He turned to leave. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> watched him until he was halfway down the porch steps.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean...” Dean </span>
  <span>froze but</span>
  <span> didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry I had to keep the truth from you. I was under orders.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know.” The words were said softly, but </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> heard them. Dean still didn’t turn around. It was then that </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> noticed the young girl waiting in the car. “I... I need to go.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Dean.” </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> eyes stayed on him as he got into the cruiser and spoke to his daughter. Then they drove away. He heard his phone ringing and went back inside to answer it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Novak,” Castiel said in a clipped voice.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, in all the excitement, I forgot to ask if you’d gotten my email.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“New development. Our friend, </span>
  <span>Akhtar, was spotted at JFK. He’s traveling under the na</span>
  <span>me Imam </span>
  <span>Sahan</span>
  <span>. Cain says you want to stay where you are, but I’m not comfortable with that.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> glanced at his watch. He only had a few seconds left before someone smart could pinpoint a location</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> or at least get close. “There isn’t </span>
  <span>an</span>
  <span> underground bunker for you to stash me in, Victor. If he finds me, he finds </span>
  <span>me</span>
  <span> and we deal.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“There are underground bunkers, Novak. Lots of them, I’m sure. Don’t people in Kansas have them for tornedos and shit? Just... keep your head on a swivel, Castiel.” Victor rarely used his first name, so Castiel knew the man was worried about him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Always.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> slid his thumb and ended the call.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The next knock at his door was from Frank. He held a casserole covered in aluminum foil. “Millie thought you’d be hungry. She made pot roast with potatoes and carrots.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell Mildred thank you,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, taking the dish. Frank peered up at him. “I’m fine, really.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, huh.” Frank nodded and left. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> waited until he’d crossed the street to shut his own door. He lifted the foil and his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. </span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim was good. He was saying everything right. He’d obviously dealt with crazy armed people before. The reverend’s attention wasn’t on Dean. It allowed him to shift his weight and get quietly to his knees. If Jim kept him talking, Dean could spring up and grab Milton’s wrist.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In slow motion, he watched as the gun slowly turned. Damn it to hell, the dude was going to kill himself. </span>
  <span>“You don’t have to do this,” Dean said, his hands up in a placating stance. The gun shook and it was pointed at him again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The guy was a loose cannon. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The shot that rang out made Dean jump. Milton’s gun had gone flying somewhere to his left and blood was spurting out of the reverend’s hand. Dean was on his feet in an instant and slammed Milton against the kitchen counter, his good arm in a policemen’s hold behind his back. Dean spouted off the memorized Miranda Rights, all the while keeping Milton from moving. He shifted slightly using his weight to keep Milton stable.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>With his left hand free, he keyed up his radio. “County, this is Deputy Winchester, I have a murder suspect in custody and am requesting an ambulance and back up at my location.” He knew Jody and Rufus would hear the radio chatter and Jody would come to assist.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the meantime, he had to stop the bleeding. It wouldn’t look good to have the guy bleed out. His eyes panned the area and landed on a kitchen towel. He moved back a step, allowing Milton to sag against the counter. He was mumbling and sobbing incoherently. Dean gave the hand a </span>
  <span>cursory</span>
  <span> glance. Jim’s bullet had taken off the index and middle fingers. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean wrapped the wounded hand as efficiently as possible. Dean looked across the kitchen. “Jim.” The man looked deep in thought. “Jim?” He asked louder. Wide blue eyes met his. Those eyes didn’t look traumatized, not in the least. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jim was certainly not a victim of crime. “I’ll need some answers.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The pliant body beside him stiffened and Milton began spouting off some Biblical quote. Dean wasn’t having that crap, not now. “Shut up,” he snarled coldly. This jackass killed someone and had been planning on giving Jim the same fate. Not on his fucking watch. He grabbed the man’s good arm and shoved him down into one of Jim’s </span>
  <span>kitchen</span>
  <span> chairs. He grabbed his cuffs, snapping one around Milton’s wrist and the other around the back spindle of the chair.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing the sirens, he breathed out a sigh of relief. The quicker Milton was seen by emergency personnel and out of his sight, the better. When he heard the pounding on Jim’s front door, he ordered Jim to let them in. It was probably Jody. An ambulance couldn’t have gotten there that fast.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Seconds later, Jody strode into the room, eyes taking in the scene. “Talk to me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a hunch and trailed the good reverend to Ji—here. He got the drop on me, but our newest resident shot him in the hand.” It was the </span>
  <span>condensed</span>
  
  <span>version</span>
  <span> but Jody would have the full report soon enough. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jody nodded. “Ambo is five minutes out.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, can you keep an eye on him. I need to talk to...” It didn’t feel right calling him Jim in front of Jody, instead he just pointed toward the front of the house.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim was standing at the open door with Frank and Mildred. Why wasn’t he surprised? “Jim, a word.” All three looked at him and Dean counted to five to calm himself down. “Alone.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the bedroom, the same bedroom he’d had a hot </span>
  <span>handjob</span>
  <span> in earlier that day, Dean rounded on Jim. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What did he mean by you having the murder weapon?” He pushed all his hurt and anger aside. This was a police interview, nothing more. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jim’s excuse was sound. Stupid but sound. “Of all the stupid...” Dean stopped before he said something equally </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I could charge you with...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Impeding an investigation... tampering with evidence... I know the drill, Deputy.” Well, either the guy watched way too many crime dramas on TV or he was law enforcement.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just bet you do. What are you? FBI? ATF?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a CIA operative.” Dean didn’t expect that. Jim was a government spy. God, give him strength. Dean barely kept it together during the rest of their interview. Inside, he was fuming. Everything was a fucking lie.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He collected the fucking murder weapon. Jim had put in on a closet shelf next to a pile of quilts. Jesus H. Christ. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck his life</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At the station, he made sure the evidence was tagged correctly and placed a call to the state’s forensic lab to send a courier to pick it up. Then he sat down at his computer to start on the report. It would be a long night. He was glad Mandy was safe at her uncle’s.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was close to four in the morning, when Jody walked into the station, holding Milton in front of her. He was cuffed from behind and had a mutinous look on his face. “Mr. Personality is ready for questioning,” Jody said dryly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you put him in interrogation?” She nodded and was back a few minutes later.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, it’s hard to believe he’s a Christian. He goes from ranting about immigrants and whores, to quoting scripture. And </span>
  <span>this is why</span>
  <span> I don’t go to church,” she said, taking a seat at her own desk.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Christians are like cops. Most are actually good people, some are just assholes,” Dean mumbled as he typed the name and date on the long report. He stretched and glanced up at the clock again. Going home wasn’t an option since his shift started in a couple of hours. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d worked triples.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The door banged open and Rufus walked in. He hadn’t shaved and looked pissed. “God damned CIA. Woke me up at the ass crack of dawn. I hate this fucking shit.” His eyes landed on Dean. “You, my office.” He stomped through and the door to his office slammed shut, rattling the glass.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“CIA?” Jody looked perplexed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you later,” Dean said, standing up. This wasn’t going to be pretty. He took a deep breath and opened the door without knocking. “You requested my presence, Rufus?” He was being </span>
  <span>cheeky</span>
  <span> and it had the potential to go sideways, but shit, he was the golden boy.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I got a call from Director Cain from the God damn CIA. The God damn CIA, Winchester. Seems we have an operative here. An operative that is supposed to be relaxing and keeping his nose clean. Is he relaxing and keeping his nose clean?” Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Rufus kept ranting. “</span>
  <span>Hell</span>
  <span> the fuck no. He’s ass deep in a murder investigation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your</span>
  </em>
  <span> investigation, Winchester. Care to fucking enlighten me?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s in my report, Rufus.” Pissed off brown eyes looked back at him. “Okay, here is the condensed version.” Dean proceeded to tell Rufus everything. He left out the parts where he lusted after the operative in question and the </span>
  <span>hand</span>
  <span>job</span>
  <span>. Y</span>
  <span>eah, well that wouldn’t every come to light</span>
  <span>.</span>
  
  <em>
    <span>Nope</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he was done, Rufus sat back, his hands steepled in front of him. Dean bit his lip and waited. After about ninety seconds had passed, Rufus sat up. “Go amend your report. Remove anything that has to do with this James Milton. Nothing about him can see the light of day. I will not have the fucking CIA down here starting shit in my town.” Dean nodded. “Get out.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scuttled out of the office, carefully shutting the door behind him. Jody quirked her eyebrow at him. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t breathe a word to anyone. Anyone, Jody.” At her agreement, he told her the story. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. He’s CIA? He doesn’t look like a spy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s the fucking point. And what does a spy look like anyway? James Bond? Mata Hari?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <span>dove</span>
  <span> back into his report and changed up everything. In the end, it had been an empty house and he’d been the one to shoot Milton. How they were going to keep Milton’s testimony quiet, he hadn’t a fucking clue.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could interrogate Milton, the man’s attorney was called. Dick Roman walked into the station like the smarmy bastard that he was. “Good afternoon, I’m here to see my client.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Rufus poked his head out of his office and snapped his fingers in Roman’s direction. “We need to talk, boy.” Roman raised a </span>
  <span>brow</span>
  
  <span>but</span>
  <span> disappeared behind the closed door. A light lit up on Dean’s desk phone. Who was Rufus calling? Less than twenty minutes later, Roman came out looking a lot less cocky. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall w</span>
  <span>e?” </span>
  <span>he asked, indicating the door to the interrogation room. As the law allowed, Roman had a few minutes with his client before questioning. Dean paced until Roman opened the door and invited him in. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The interview was surreal. Rufus stood behind Dean, who sat across from Milton and Roman. “My client will sign a statement. He will not be talking. We understand you have a murder weapon found in an abandoned house and...” Milton started to speak, but Roman slapped his hand on the table. “Shut up, Michael.” To Dean and the small recorder on the table, he said</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>“W</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span> will b</span>
  <span>e pleading guilty. The murder was not premediated, and I’d like to try for third degree. I’m sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> parties will </span>
  <span>be in agreement</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sat back, stunned. Was the CIA pulling strings to keep their operative safe? Who in the hell was he?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Murder three sounds about right,” Rufus said and left the room. Milton began to sputter and Roman waved a hand at him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Deputy, may I have some more time alone with my client?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Have at it,” Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was still at his desk when Roman left. Linda had gotten to work by then and was wearing a pinched look. She hated not knowing what was going on and Dean couldn’t say shit. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, Rufus came to his door. “Winchester, the state police are coming to get our prisoner and will be taking him to county lockup over in Montgomery. He’ll be arraigned there. It’s out of our hands now. Make sure they have all evidence and case files.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At lunch, Dean walked down to the newspaper office. Mandy and Sam were bent over a laptop. He pasted on a smile. “How was the sleepover?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Both looked up and Mandy greeted him with a smile. He felt better instantly. “Hey, sweetheart.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Daddy. You look tired.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Want to grab some lunch?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was dead on his feet, despite an afternoon nap in his car parked down a dirt road. At five, he told Linda he was going home. He stopped and picked up Mandy. “Hey, kiddo, what do you say we have a pizza for dinner?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Sam said you caught the person who killed that bitchy woman and that it was the preacher at the Baptist Church.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam needs to keep his mouth shut and you don’t get to say words like bitchy until you get out of college.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to be a reporter when I grow up, so I need to learn all I can.” Why did the thought of her growing up make his chest hurt?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, pizza?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Yes, the man who murdered that bitchy woman was Reverend Milton.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked over at her. “Sure, baby, I’m fine. Just tired.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You should take a nice, long shower and go see your new friend.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean almost drove off the road. “What? Who?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, I’m not a kid and I’m not stupid. I saw the way you were looking at him at the library. He’s hot, for an older guy. And you n</span>
  <span>ever </span>
  <span>go</span>
  
  <span>ou</span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span> at night. Never. So, when you went out the other night, I rode my bicycle over to Oak Street and whose car did I see outside of his house? </span>
  <span>Hmmmm</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You followed me? Listen, young lady, I told you to stay inside with the doors locked. You deliberately disobeyed...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So, do you like him?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Yes. It’s complicated.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it only because he’s just here to write his </span>
  <span>book?</span>
  <span> You could date him and then he’d fall in love with you, decide to stay, and then you guys could, like I don’t know, get married or something.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean choked on his own spit. “Christ, Mandy. We aren’t getting married. Or dating.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What about sex?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The tires screeched on the asphalt as the car jerked to a stop. “There is no sex. No. Sex. No. Marriage. No. Dating. We aren’t even...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be going to college soon and I don’t want you to be lonely, Dad. You need someone in your life.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Not him. And you’ve got a few more years before college.” He stared at her and she stared back. There was an intelligence behind those pretty eyes that he was only just now seeing. She was growing up. He blinked back the moisture that was threatening to spill.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve always said I shouldn’t be afraid to fight for what I want in life.” He told her that when the boy’s peewee baseball league told her she couldn’t play because she wasn’t the right sex. And boy, did she</span>
  <span> fight. She even did an interview for the paper with her argument. She wound up playing and took that little team to the state championship. She’d been seven at the time. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you get so smart?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I come from good stock,” she said primly. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <span>gotta</span>
  <span> make a stop and then we’re having pizza.” He eased off the brake and turned the car on Oak. He was still feeling betrayed and hated being lied to, but he really needed to understand. It didn’t mean he wanted any kind of entanglement with Jim. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mandy held up her fist and he gave it a bump. “Don’t get your hopes up, kiddo. I just need to clear the air. That's all.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He jogged up the walk, slowed to climb the steps, and then knocked. Jim looked as shitty as he felt. “Hello, Deputy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim.” He didn’t mean to sound like an asshole. It just came out that way.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Castiel.” Well, that was unusual. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Jim’s easier to pronounce.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It is.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess your last name would be too much to ask.” Damn those fucking eyes. Did they have to be so blue? And those lips... </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Novak.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> Novak. CIA operative. With eyes he could get lost in. Did he use them to</span>
  <span> get </span>
  <span>terr</span>
  <span>orists</span>
  <span> to confess?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sheriff Turner got a call in the wee hours of the morning from your boss. Rufus wasn’t impressed at being woke up.” Why was he even here? He risked a glance back at the car. Mandy was watching intently. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The brat</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This was all her fault.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you expect me to apologize?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I was just saying...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here? Do you have more questions about the murder?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Rufus said to leave you alone. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but Milton, my files, and all my evidence got shipped out.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you're here? To complain that your collar got sent somewhere </span>
  <span>else?</span>
  <span> I didn't have anything to do with those decisions, Dean.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>This was a mistake. “You know... I don’t even want to fucking know, man.” It was a lie, but he shouldn’t be here. He was halfway down the steps when Jim... no, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> called his name.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean...” Why did his name on that man’s lips have to sound so fucking sinful? “I’m sorry I had to keep the truth from you. I was under orders.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” Dean whispered. “I... I need to go.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Dean.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was it. Closure. He got into the car and faced Mandy. “I said my goodbyes. He’s going to go back to his life. Looks like you’re going to be taking care of me when I get old and gray.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She looked over his shoulder at the house. “You aren’t very convincing, Dad.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want on your pizza?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They watched Guy’s Grocery Games and ate pizza. He should have suspected something. Mandy had been quiet. Too quiet. Normally, she was griping about the contestants’ choices. He frowned at her when the doorbell rang. Sam and his girlfriend, Eileen, stood on his front porch. “Hey, we are going to Dairy Queen for some ice cream and then out to the Falls for a walk. We thought Mandy would want to come with us. Maybe spend the night again.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m coming,” Mandy shouted from behind him. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I invited?” Somehow, he knew the answer.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, just me and my best girls.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Mandy pushed by him, a packed bag in her hand. <em>The little shit</em>. “See you tomorrow, Daddy. Have fun.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He found himself staring at the closed door. “Son of a bitch.” He stomped into the living room and threw himself on the couch. “I’m not leaving this couch.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he put the key into the ignition, he was still cursing his brother for being wrapped around his daughter’s finger. “Bitch,” he muttered, as if Sam was there to respond.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> door opened, Dean barged past him. “I’m only here because I still have fucking questions.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’ll be able to answer them,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, following him into the living room. Strangely enough, he was watching Guy’s Grocery Games too. Small fucking world.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those that wanted my grandmother's (and Mildred's) recipe for chicken and dumplings, go to my palominopup FB page. I posted it today.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some homophobic language here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stared blankly at the television. It was some stupid gameshow about grocery stores. His mind was on Dean. The goodbye, the image of him walking away, and the ache in his chest. He idly rubbed his sternum as if to make it go away. There wasn’t anything between them but one </span>
  <span>handjob</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So, why was he feeling like this?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should have taken Cain’s out. He could be somewhere else. Somewhere less humid. All it would take was a phone call and the wheels would start moving. He’d be swept out of this town in the middle of the night and no one would be the wiser. No one would care. His gaze went to the plate on the coffee table. Mildred had brought him a meal of pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy, and something called fried okra. Mildred and Frank... they would miss him. And damn, he’d miss them and Mildred’s cooking. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t cook anything now, even if he was inclined since he couldn’t bring himself to go into the kitchen. The scene had been released, but crime scene tape still hung from the entry. A state team had come to go over everything and they finished up in the wee hours of the morning. Deputy Mills told him he was welcome to have his home back since it wasn’t the murder scene, but he hadn’t ventured into that room yet. Milton’s blood was still splattered on the floor. He’d seen worse. He’d inflicted worse. For some reason, Milton pointing the gun at Dean kept flashing through his mind. That could have been Dean’s blood.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The buzz of the ancient doorbell pulled him out of his musings. Dean stood on the porch, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid overshirt, sleeves rolled to his elbow. “I’m only here because I still have fucking questions,” he said as he barged past him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’ll be able to answer them,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> mumbled, following Dean into the living room. He’d already broken protocol and gave Dean his real name, but he wasn’t sure how </span>
  <span>in-depth</span>
  <span> Dean wanted to go.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here on some sort of forced vacation? Why?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> sat in one of the over-stuffed chairs and indicated for Dean to sit. “If you are going to interrogate me, we should at least be comfortable.” He waited until the deputy sat stiffly on the sofa. “I was on a mission. My cover was </span>
  <span>blown</span>
  <span> and I was extracted. The leader of the terrorist cell that I infiltrated was a bit miffed, so he put a price on my head. End of story. See, not exciting at all.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And you picked Coosa Falls to hide out in?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It was picked for me. I would have picked somewhere cooler, like a cabin in the Pacific Northwest.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, we aren’t good enough for you,” Dean muttered. “When do you leave here?” he asked in a louder tone.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said honestly. He couldn’t go into the intel that had Akhtar Zahed stateside.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still pissed off that you lied.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Understood,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stated firmly. Dean stared at him a few moments and then leaned back, closing his eyes. It allowed </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> gaze to roam up and down his body unnoticed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Want</span>
  </em>
  <span> made his </span>
  <span>heart beat</span>
  <span> faster.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Terrorist cell... guess that means you were in the sandbox?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” The sandbox was a term used by soldiers. It applied to the Middle East. “You were a soldier?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“US Marine. Fourteen years.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you get out?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes still shut, Dean answered, “Mandy. I couldn’t risk deployment with a kid. I wanted her to be raised near family. I wanted her to have some roots. I tried it for a while, but shuffling her around...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel got it. He never imagined himself with a child, not in his line of work, but he could put himself in Dean’s shoes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had kids, he’d move heaven and earth to make sure they</span>
  <span> safe and </span>
  <span>secure in the knowledge that they were loved.</span>
  <span> A computer screen image of their father from God knows where wouldn’t cut it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The silence that dragged on wasn’t as tense as it once was. He wondered for a moment if Dean had fallen asleep, but then he noticed his hands. His fingers were splayed over his thighs, curling and uncurling.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Cas.” Dean’s usual baritone was barely a whisper. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> repeated the shortened version of his name in his head a couple of times. It wasn’t the first time someone had done that, but not since his college days.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> didn’t answer, Dean’s eyes blinked open and his head turned slightly to look at him. “What?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>What, indeed. How could he tell Dean that he still wanted him? How could he tell him that his soul yearned for his touch? Or that he longed to be the focus of those incredibly green eyes?</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a beer?” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> stood and walked to the kitchen, only to be stopped by the sight of the blood smeared floor. “Whoa, Cas, didn’t they release this? The forensic guys were supposed to collect evidence and then let it go. This isn’t the murder scene.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“They did... I just haven’t...</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, let’s clean this up,” Dean said, already opening the small broom closet. “Yes,” he hissed when he saw the mop and bucket, along with other assorted cleaning products. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> hadn’t ever opened it, since he didn’t do much in the room to warrant cleaning. “Fill this up,” he said, handing </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> the bucket. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Neither spoke until the floor was clean and the room smelled of synthetic pine. “Thank you, Dean,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said as he emptied the bucket into one side of the double sink. Dean was wringing the mop in the other side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked up from what he was doing and said, “’</span>
  <span>s fine</span>
  <span>.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been with the Agency for most of my adult life. I was recruited because of my degree in languages and haven’t ever looked back. I’m good at my job. I’m out of the country more than I’m stateside. I have condo in DC that doesn’t even have a plant in it. My life isn’t ideal for relationships. Mick... he knew I was CIA, but I never shared that part of my life with him.” Castiel spoke softly, eyes staring out the window at the fading sun. He noted that Dean’s hands had stilled. “He was kind and patient, but I know he always wanted </span>
  <span>more,</span>
  <span> and I couldn’t give it to him.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t feel </span>
  <span>guilty</span>
  <span> because you weren’t in love with someone. We can’t make ourselves fall in love. Trust me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> cocked his head to the side, looking at Dean’s profile now. “Mandy’s mother?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The huff of laughter sounded bitter. “No, yeah, maybe. There was a girl... Cassie...” Another laugh. “Ironic, huh? Anyway, we met right after high school. I was floating around wondering what to do with my life. She was on the fast track to college and a great career. I was head over heels, she </span>
  <span>wasn’t. She said she tried to love me, but...” He spun and stalked to the closet to hang the mop. “Anyway, you </span>
  <span>can’t</span>
  
  <span>force</span>
  <span> yourself to fall for someone. It </span>
  <span>ain’t</span>
  <span> fair to you or them.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>How the conversation turned from his choice of career to love, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> didn’t know, but hearing the old pain in Dean’s voice did something to his insides. He moved before he could talk himself out of it. When Dean turned, he was right in his personal space. Dean’s eyes flicked from his eyes to his mouth and it told him that the desire was still there.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean murmured before lowering his mouth to </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span>. He wouldn’t let himself think of the what ifs of the </span>
  <span>future.</span>
  <span> It was only this moment in time. The kiss started chaste, just a press of their closed lips, but it deepened quickly. He let Dean take the lead and marveled at the way his tongue tempted and teased his own. “Damn...” Dean came up for air, his hands tangled in </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> hair. “Bedroom.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> nodded. He reached up, taking Dean’s hands. He gave them a squeeze before dropping them. He led the way to the bedroom. The unmade bed was glowing in pinks and oranges from the last visage of the setting sun. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> pulled his shirt over his head and he felt Dean’s eyes on him. Since he’d never been bashful, he met Dean’s heated gaze with a slight uplift of his mouth and unbuttoned his shorts and let them fall to the floor. He hadn’t bothered with underwear that morning. His half-hard cock felt heavy under Dean’s stare.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, you’re...” Dean’s language skills seemed to have left him, because he stopped and licked his lips.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Naked and you’re not,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> finished for him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed as Dean got out of his clothing in record time. The laugh caught in his throat at the picture Dean made. His body was a work of art, his strong chest tapered down to a narrow waist, and his cock... his cut cock was thick and full, jutting out from a bush of brown curls. His legs were bowed, more </span>
  <span>noticeable</span>
  <span> without pants to cover them. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could never call that a flaw, no, it made Dean even more perfect.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They came together. </span>
  <span>Warm skin,</span>
  <span> flushed from heat and desire made </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> moan. He raised his hands to Dean’s ribs, moving up and around to his back, drawing him closer. Mouths met once again, both taking what they wanted. He felt lightly calloused palms on his waist, then his ass, cupping him and pressing him to Dean’s own throbbing erection. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It sent shivers down </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> spine and straight to his cock. He could feel the blood pulsing and it made him lightheaded. “Bed,” he managed to say before his mouth was back on Dean’s. He could feel the smile from the cocky </span>
  <span>bastard</span>
  <span> and he gave him a push. Dean landed on the bed, his legs and arms spread. His eyes were hooded and dark. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Like a tiger stalking his prey, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> moved forward, kneeling on the bed and crawling up until he was above Dean, looking down into his face. “I want to fuck you.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In response, Dean spread his legs wider. “I’m not stopping you,” he whispered, then reached up to </span>
  <span>cup</span>
  <span> the back of </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> neck to pull him down into another heated kiss. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> hummed his approval and lowered his hips to rut against Dean’s. Dean’s fingers seared his flesh, moving along his shoulders, down his biceps. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel broke the kiss and straightened his arms so he was once again looking down at Dean. He had to take a moment to remember where he’d put his supplies. He remembered packing lube, but condoms?</span>
  <span> He wasn’t exactly expecting this. Even after the first kiss and the steamy handjob, tthey hadn’t been on his list of things to get at the Piggly Wiggly. “Condoms?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Wallet,” Dean said, his eyes back in focus. “Tell me you have lube.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> mumbled and sat up enough to reach the nightstand. Yes, he’d jerked off a couple of times during his stay in Coosa Falls. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a red-blooded male, after all. Dean’s pants were too far away, so he reluctantly got off Dean to find the other man’s wallet. “You still keep condoms in your wallet? I haven’t done that since I was in college.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a single father, sometimes you don’t have time to plan.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Planning is overrated,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> said, opening the leather bifold. He paused to run his fingertip over the silver badge before locating the foil packet tucked behind two twenties. He tossed the wallet on top of Dean’s jeans and moved back to the bed. “Now, where were we?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you were getting ready to fuck me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> quirked his eyebrow. “Yes, now I remember.” Dean rolled his eyes, but then reached down to his cock to stroke it. </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> breath caught in his throat. He saw the bead of precum form at the slit... saw Dean swipe his thumb over it to slick up his shaft. He exhaled and crawled back on the bed. He tossed the condom aside and covered Dean’s hand with his own. Dean murmured </span>
  <span>Castiel’s</span>
  <span> name. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He let his palm slide down to fondle Dean’s balls. Dean’s back arched off the bed. “Come on, Cas. I don’t want this to be over before it starts.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one touching yourself,” </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> responded, unable to resist teasing with a finger pressed to Dean’s furled entrance. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean glared at </span>
  <span>him but</span>
  <span> removed his hand. He let it move slowly over his stomach only to stop on his right nipple. He plucked at it until it was puckered and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> licked his lips, wanting a taste. He rested his weight on one elbow and reached for the lube. Very aware of Dean’s eyes on him, he slowly </span>
  <span>poured</span>
  <span> some over his fingers, taking his time to close the cap and set it on the bed. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At his touch, Dean groaned and lifted his knees. </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> could see his hole now, wet with lube. He would love to use his tongue, but that could wait. Rimming was something one did with a trusted partner and as much as </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> trusted Dean already, he wasn’t ready for such an intimate act. With one more look at Dean’s closed eyes and parted mouth, he pressed his middle finger inside. “Oh, yeah...” Dean whispered. In and out, he moved, enjoying the image before him. Dean’s tight body opening for him, readying itself for him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>One finger became two. Dean’s hips canted up to meet them. His neck was arched, baring his throat and </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> was fascinated by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He had the urge to mark him. Bruise him with his mouth and teeth to show the world that Dean Winchester was his and his alone. It was a fantasy he shouldn’t have. He’d leave this place, never to return. Dean would meet someone who could give him what </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> couldn’t. A wave of sadness crashed over him and he returned his attention to preparing Dean for his cock.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Using his third finger, he stretched and thrust inside, making Dean grunt, “Now, damn it.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to deny Dean’s wishes, </span>
  <span>Castiel</span>
  <span> pulled out and used his dry hand to pick up the condom. He tore it open with his teeth. Dean watched as he rolled it over the head of his cock and down the shaft. “Turn over,” he said once he as sheathed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean got up on his hands and knees and Castiel took a few seconds to appreciate the muscles in the man’s back and ass. Kneeling, Castiel pressed the head of his cock to Dean’s hole. It was dark red, slick, and puffy -- gaping and ready for him. It was tight and he felt Dean tense. Another push and he was inside. “Ahhh,” he said softly as heat engulfed him. Beads of sweat broke out along Dean’s spine and Castiel couldn’t resist wiping his palm up his back until he could hook his fingers over Dean’s shoulder. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Another inch sank inside, then another, until his hips were pressed to Dean’s ass, his balls against Dean’s. He waited, trying to control the need to take what he wanted, but this wasn’t a </span>
  <span>one night</span>
  <span> stand, this was Dean, a man he cared about. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Dean whispered, rolling his hips to make his desires known. Using the hand on Dean’s shoulder and his other on his hip, Castiel started to withdraw, only to thrust in again immediately. Over and over until both men were incapable of speech. The smell of sex and sweat made Castiel’s nostrils flare. His pelvis moved faster, harder. His skin, slick with </span>
  <span>perspir</span>
  <span>at</span>
  <span>ion </span>
  <span>slap</span>
  <span>p</span>
  <span>ed</span>
  
  <span>obscenely</span>
  <span> against Dean’s</span>
  <span> ass. God, he was beautiful like this. A glimpse into the antique dresser mirror showed them both, caught in a dance as old as time itself. Dean’s fist was wrapped around his cock, stroking it languidly, as if wanting to draw out his pleasure. Castiel’s rhythm faltered at the sight. He wanted to capture this moment to take with him. As if sensing Castiel’s thoughts, Dean’s eyes met his in the reflected image. “Cas...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The whispered version of his name sent a sharp pain into his heart. He pulled out. “On your back. I want to see you.” It was intimate, not a position he’d used with anyone other than Mick. Dean rolled to his back and spread his legs, drawing his knees up to his chest, unashamed of baring himself to Castiel. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Castiel held the base of his cock and guided it back into Dean’s welcoming body. Using his arms to hold his weight, he pushed deep inside. “Ah, yeah... fuck me...” Dean hands held his knees </span>
  <span>wide,</span>
  <span> his hips were meeting Castiel’s thrust for thrust. Heat coiled like a snake in his belly. Close... so close. He dipped his head to take a messy kiss and Dean gave back willingly, his tongue pushing inside Castiel’s mouth. “Touch me,” Dean said softly against his lips when they parted for air. Castiel shifted and took Dean’s cock in hand. He pumped up and down, setting the pace with his hips. Dean’s hot sheath was too much.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Coming,” he panted, his vision suddenly blurry. “So, good... so beautiful...” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Dean’s cry and the warmth of his release on his fingers. He blinked to clear his eyes and saw the </span>
  <span>off-white</span>
  <span> ropes of cum on Dean’s stomach. His breath caught in his throat and he opened his mouth in a silent scream as his orgasm washed over him. Trembling, he carefully rolled to the side. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was still breathing like he’d run a marathon, and Castiel wasn’t much better. He looked up at the ceiling wond</span>
  <span>erin</span>
  <span>g where they were going from here </span>
  <span>w</span>
  <span>hen</span>
  
  <span>Dean’s hand brushed his, his pinky intertwining with Castiel’s. Then Dean turned on his side and let his finger brush against Castiel’s damp cheek. “I don’t... allergies...” Castiel fumbled to explain the tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed until that moment.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Shhh</span>
  <span>,” Dean whispered and relaxed on the pillow beside him. Castiel closed his eyes, his body sinking into oblivion. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fifty miles away, a private landing strip was silent save for the four men on the cracked tarmac, the private plane’s engine cooling. The leader stared into the darkness, sweat already making his black hair hang in lank curls. It was humid, something he wasn’t used to. “You have the directions?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The one wearing cargo shorts and a black t</span>
  <span>ank top nodded. “He’s in a town called Coosa Falls.” He </span>
  <span>nodded toward the waiting black pickup</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> It </span>
  <span>was a late model with extended cab and oversized tires. “They rented him a house there.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Akhtar nodded. He had friends in high places. This man wasn’t a friend, just a means to an end. “Give Ishim the information.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I can take you there, I know...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Akhtar held up a hand and the American stopped talking. He unlocked his phone and showed the address to Ishim. He watched as his comrade read and memorized the directions. When Ishim looked up and nodded, the third man, </span>
  <span>Haseeb,</span>
  <span> opened the small case he carried and pulled out a pistol. He slowly screwed on the silencer and took aim. “No, what are you doing? I’m loyal...” The shot hit him in the middle of his forehead, and he dropped to the ground.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dispose of him,” Akhtar said, taking the truck keys off the body. He unlocked the vehicle, started it, and waited in the </span>
  <span>air-conditioned</span>
  <span> vehicle</span>
  <span> while his two men did their work. Fifteen minutes later, they left the airstrip. Once on the small highway, they heard the plane explode and the fireball lit the sky. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The town was </span>
  <span>small</span>
  <span> and the GPS took them to th</span>
  <span>e</span>
  <span> a</span>
  <span>ddress the CIA informant had given him.</span>
  
  <span>Akhtar smiled at the dark house. Inside was the operative that had infiltrated his organization. No one made a fool out of Akhtar Zahed. “What now?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Now we wait,” answered Akhtar. It would be easy to go into the house while his enemy slept, but Castiel Novak would bow to him before he died. He imagined him on his knees, begging for his life, but no, Novak would not beg. He would hold his head up high. Akhtar respected that. “We will take him soon enough.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Akhtar, we cannot risk being...”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is in charge?” The question was spat out and resounded in the confines of the truck.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You, Ra.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Drive.” The truck was put into gear and as the homes and town gave way to forest, Akhtar looked at his Rolex. His spy in Washington would be found dead in a few hours. Things must move swiftly. Akhtar found what he was looking for. The park would be closed until late morning. They would bring Novak here and leave the body behind the waterfall. He’d done his research. "The sun will be up soon. Let’s go.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sex had been good. Better than good. Dean had been shocked and awed to see the tear make its way down Cas’ face. He’d watched as the man fell into a deep sleep, but it wouldn’t claim Dean for a long time. He wanted to think this was a mistake, but while his head was telling him that Cas would be leaving and they had no future, his heart was insisting that he make the most of the time left with him. He must have finally dozed off because the sun streaming through a crack in the curtains fell right across his eyes. Groaning, he stretched and winced at the slight discomfort from... sex... yeah, sex. He looked next to him and saw Cas’ dark hair stark against the white pillowcase. He was facing away from Dean and he allowed his gaze to linger on the strong shoulders and back. He was a work of art.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly, he got out of bed and found his underwear and jeans. Barefoot, he made his way to the kitchen and </span>
  <span>grimaced</span>
  <span> when he remembered the blood they cleaned up. He’d been confident he’d had a good case against Michael Milton, not only for the murder of Lilith, but the attempted murder of Cas and himself, but who knew what would happen with the CIA sticking their hands in the pie. He could understand wanting to keep their operative safe, but the man did kill someone. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The old Mister Coffee was sputtering and dribbling the brew when Cas showed up in the doorway. “Morning, Sunshine,” Dean said, a smile on his face. Cas’ hair was standing on end and he had a red crease down his right cheek from the pillow. He was adorable. Dean watched him scratch his stomach and his eyes drifted down the thin line of hair that went from navel to disappear into the waistband of his orange boxer briefs. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee?” He made a grabby hand and Dean laughed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost ready. Keep your shorts on, dude.” Blue eyes narrowed. He made his way to the fridge and Dean watched in amazement as Cas took a gallon jug of sweet tea out, uncapped it, and drank right out of the jug. “Whoa, aren’t</span>
  <span> you a Y</span>
  <span>ankee?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas lowered the jug, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and squinted at Dean. “So... I’ve acquired a few different tastes since I’ve been here.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess you’re going to have to learn to cook grits, fried okra, and Mildred’s chicken and dumplings. I’m sure she’ll teach you how before you have to leave.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Dean just had to bring that up.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make sure to ask her,” Cas said, not looking at him. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>morning after </span>
  </em>
  <span>tension inched up a notch to truly awkward. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Silently, Dean opened cabinets until he found the cups. He took the top off the delicate sugar bowl, then glanced over at Cas. “Sugar?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots.” Dean put a spoonful into his mug and three into the other one. “Milk?” Cas asked from across the kitchen. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for me,” Dean responded, pouring the coffee for </span>
  <span>both of them</span>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas took his and closed his eyes at the first sip. When he opened them, he caught Dean </span>
  <span>staring.</span>
  <span> “You spent the night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean furrowed his brow. “Yeah?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you’d leave.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you want me to?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” More silence. They both drank their first cups and made fresh ones. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to work today?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I’ll go in anyway. I want to check on the case. What do you think will happen to Milton?” Dean nudged Cas’ elbow, since they’d gravitated toward each other for their second round of coffee. “Strange how your alias was Milton too. How do they come up with stuff like that?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I leave it all to my handlers. We have a data base that can spit out names, back stories, official documents. It’s above my paygrade.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow, I doubt much is above your paygra</span>
  <span>de. </span>
  <span>From the conversation Rufus had with your boss, I’m </span>
  <span>g</span>
  <span>uessing</span>
  <span> you’re pretty high up on the food chain.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas shrugged. “I’m good at my job.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean knew not to pry. Cas couldn’t tell him anything anyway. “I should probably go.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh...” A knock on the door cut off what Cas was going to say. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You should put some clothes on,” Dean said. He went to answer the door. Mildred and Frank were on the porch. That wasn’t a shocker. What interested Dean, was that fact that Mildred was holding a foil wrapped pan and the aroma was heavenly.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, what a lovely surprise. I brought breakfast. It’s my sausage and grits casserole.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let her fool you. She spied your car last night and tried to bet me twenty bucks that you’d spend the night. It would have been a sucker bet.” The last part was a low mumble. Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or die of embarrassment.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Cas... and I had some stuff to work out and we... talked... all night.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And you had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> shirtless? Did something happen to the air conditioner? It seems to be working fine,” Mildred said, her mouth twitching as if to hide a smile. Dean looked down. Yes, he’d answered the door without his shirt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crap</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wo</span>
  <span>rking f</span>
  <span>ine?</span>
  <span>”</span>
  <span> Cas asked, coming into the living room. “Is that breakfast?” Dean noted that Cas had on his jeans </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  
  <span>a shirt but</span>
  
  <span>w</span>
  <span>as</span>
  <span> still barefoot.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Your air conditioner. And yes, I brought you boys some breakfast. I’m sure you have a healthy appetite this morning.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“We do,” Cas said, brushing his hand over Dean’s bare stomach. A shiver went up his spine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, good to know that Cas didn’t mind PDA. Mildred and Frank led the way to the kitchen. “Are you fine with them knowing about us?” The question was barely a whisper.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Us?” Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, our sleeping together. We are two consenting adults.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure. Summer fling, right?” Something flickered in Cas’ eyes and was gone before Dean could get a read on it.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Breakfast with Mildred and Frank turned out to be interes</span>
  <span>ting. </span>
  <span>They treated Cas as if he was their </span>
  <span>long lost</span>
  <span> son</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> Mildred tended to fuss over him. Filling his plate, asking if h</span>
  <span>e wanted seconds, and even offering to get his coffee. It was the planned trip to the zoo that had Dean grinning like an idiot.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When he announced he had to get going, Cas walked him out onto the porch and Dean couldn’t help but tease him. “Don’t get scared of the lions </span>
  <span>now. I know </span>
  <span>they’re</span>
  
  <span>big</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> but they can’t hurt you. And if you’re good, Frank might buy you an ice cream cone.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a regular comedian,” Cas said and then leaned over and brushed his lips over Dean’s. “I hope to see you tonight,” he whispered against Dean’s ear and chill bumps rose on his skin. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <span>gotta</span>
  <span> see what’s going on with Mandy first.” Cas smiled, nodded, and patted his ass. Dean stole another quick kiss and jogged to his car. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Today was going to be a great day</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Whistling, he let himself into his house and headed straight for the shower. He’d stop by and get Mandy before heading to the office. She liked hanging out there and Rufus treated her like a freaking princess. After he caught up with things there, he’d take his favorite girl to lunch. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The hot water sluiced over his body and he sighed. He was sore, but in a good way. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A noise made him pause, his hand still on the bottle of shampoo. He listened </span>
  <span>carefully,</span>
  <span> his head cocked to one side. He hadn’t locked the door behind him, but this was Coosa Falls. He saw the shadow just before the shower </span>
  <span>curtain</span>
  <span> was ripped to the side and he was knocked in the head by the butt of a pistol. Groggily, he tried to fight, but there were two of them... no, three. One stood at the door of the bathroom. He heard a voice say, “Get the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mithli</span>
  </em>
  <span> dressed. Quickly.” The accent was a Middle Eastern. He’d heard the term </span>
  <span>mithli</span>
  <span> before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pervert</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He was hauled up by his arms and he struggled against the two men, but the blow to his head was making him dizzy. “Hey, I think you got the wrong house, man,” Dean mumbled to the obvious leader.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Get dressed,” The words were spat out and the jeans he’d just pulled off were thrown at him. He caught them by reflex alone and then stumbled, falling to the floor. One of the men held a gun trained on him, while the other minion rummaged through his drawers for a shirt. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You will cooperate,” th</span>
  <span>e </span>
  <span>leader</span>
  
  <span>said</span>
  <span>, his dark eyes cold. “Or you will die.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t risk playing hero and have Mandy or Sam come home to a house full of bad guys. “Sure, can you tell me what you want with me?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you. </span>
  <span>Your</span>
  <span> lover has a deb</span>
  <span>t to pay. You will help me collect.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas? It hit Dean like a </span>
  <span>freight</span>
  <span> train. This was the guy that put the price on Cas’ head. Shit. He opened his mouth to play dumb, but with the two guns aimed at his chest, he thought better of it. “If you plan to use me as bait, you might want to rethink that. It was just a </span>
  <span>one night</span>
  <span> stand... you have those in your part of the world, right?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Novak was very affectionate for a </span>
  <span>one night</span>
  <span> stand.” Christ, he knew Cas’ real name and they’d been watched. They must have seen them this morning. This wasn’t good.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’d pulled on a pair of running shoes, he was shoved down the hall to the front door. “You will walk with us. Do not bring attention...” The threat was </span>
  <span>real</span>
  <span> and Dean calmly walked toward the black club cab pickup. “Front seat,” came the order from behind him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean settled into the truck and when the vehicle was in motion, he felt the cold muzzle on his neck. He was getting damn tired of having guns pointed at him. He remained quiet as they left the town behind and made their way to the Falls.</span>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Akhtar and his men had parked the truck two houses down. He was unhappy when the older couple was let inside. He had to get Novak alone. He would not risk being found out until after Novak was dead. Plans were already in place for him to escape the country. He glanced over at his two comrades. They were expendable. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As h</span>
  <span>e’d </span>
  <span>expected, </span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span>he</span>
  <span> waterfall was deserted at this time of morning. The small park didn’t open until ten. </span>
  <span>Haseeb kept his gun pressed to the man’s back as they walked down the narrow path that led to the falls. He curled his lips in disgust. Novak lay with men. Another reason to end his life. Behind the waterfall, the cavern opened </span>
  <span>to a </span>
  <span>subt</span>
  <span>erran</span>
  <span>ean</span>
  <span> amphitheater. Haseeb pushed Novak’s lover to a stone shelf. Akhtar took out the man’s phone he’d taken from the house. “Call Novak. Tell him to come here alone.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have his number.” The slap resounded off the rock walls and blood flew from the man’s mouth.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, causing the man to hiss in pain. “Do not fuck with me. I have ways to get information out of the bravest of soldiers.” He let the threat hang in the air. Green eyes filled with hatred glared back at him.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <span>infidel</span>
  
  <span>re</span>
  <span>ached</span>
  <span> for his phone and after touching the screen, he held it to his ear. “Speaker,” Akhtar ordered. The man obeyed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, it’s Dean.” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Akhtar grabbed the phone. “Novak, I had no idea you were a </span>
  <span>mithli</span>
  <span>. When I kill you, you will not sit at the right hand of your god.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Akhtar, you have no reason to hurt Deputy Winchester. Let him go and I will come to you.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, you will come to me anyway, my old friend. We are in </span>
  <span>the</span>
  
  <span>cavern under the waterfall. Come alone and unarmed. Do not make me kill your lover.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“If you touch him...” Akhtar ended the call and laughed.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“He must like you, Deputy Winchester.” It was nice to have a name for the man he’d have to kill once Novak was taken care of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Castiel went back inside after Dean left, a smile teasing his lips. This thing between them wouldn’t last forever, but they could have fun until Castiel could get back to his real life. The smile faded. For the first time in his career, the thought of another mission didn’t fill him with excitement. Strange. He lived for the stimulation of the chase, the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of bringing the bad guys to their knees. </p><p>“Well, well, you and the deputy...” Frank said when he entered the kitchen.  </p><p>He didn’t respond, just shooed Mildred away from the sink. “I can clean the kitchen, Mildred. Go sit down. She patted his arm and did as she was told. “So, the zoo?” </p><p>“Yes, we will have a lovely time and we can eat at Dreamland for a late lunch or early dinner.” </p><p>“Dreamland?” </p><p>“The best ribs this side of the Mason-Dixon line,” Frank said, getting up hand Castiel his mug to wash. “I’ll be here when y’all get back. It’s too hot for this old man to be wondering around looking at lions and tigers.” </p><p>“And bears,” Castiel and Mildred said in unison, and then laughed. The ringing of his phone made him groan.  </p><p>“Novak.”  </p><p>“We’ve traced Akhtar to an airport near you. The plane landed sometime last night. I’ve got a dead operative in DC and we think he was our mole. An extraction team is on their way. Be ready.” Director Cain’s clipped words sent a chill up his spine. He wasn’t afraid of Akhtar, but he had friends here. </p><p>“I’ll be ready.” He hung up and looked back at Frank and Mildred. “I’m afraid the zoo trip is off. I will need you two to leave the area.” </p><p>“Why?” It was Frank who asked the question he was dreading. </p><p>“They are in the area. That means you might not be safe. I’m not taking chances.” Castiel jogged back to his room and checked his weapon. A full clip. He pocketed an extra one. It was all he’d been allowed to take aboard the plane. Even government spies had to follow most of the rules. </p><p>His burner phone rang. “Dean,” he murmured after seeing the screen. “Dean, I need to...”  </p><p>Dean cut him off, his voice sounded strained. “Cas, it’s Dean.”  </p><p>His blood ran cold when Akhtar’s voice reached his ear. “Novak, I had no idea you were a mithli. When I kill you, you will not sit at the right hand of your god.” Mithli, the word for pervert. How did he... this morning. He’d been here, watching the house. </p><p>“Akhtar, you have no reason to hurt Deputy Winchester. Let him go and I will come to you.” </p><p>“Ha, you will come to me anyway, my old friend. We are in the cavern under the waterfall. Come alone and unarmed. Do not make me kill your lover.” </p><p>“If you touch him...” But he was talking to empty air. </p><p>“Castiel?” He turned to see Frank and Mildred standing in the doorway to his bedroom. </p><p>“He’s got Dean.” Castiel’s jaw tightened. He walked toward them and handed Frank his official phone. “When my team lands, they will be calling. He’s holding Dean at the Falls.” </p><p>“You can’t go alone, son.”  </p><p>“I have to, Frank.” To Mildred, he assured, “This is what I’m trained to do. Don’t worry.” </p><p>Less than a minute later, he was on his way out of town. If Akhtar laid a hand on Dean, Castiel would make sure his death was slow and painful. </p><p>He made the drive in half the usual time, not paying attention to speed limits on the narrow country roads. The park as open yet, but the gate was. The chain was hanging limply, obviously cut. They’d been smart enough to come here. The Falls didn’t open until later in the morning. He glanced at his watch. He had less than an hour before the employees showed up. No civilians could be hurt.  </p><p>After exiting his car, he called Dean’s phone. Akhtar answered on the first ring. “I’m here. Send the deputy out and I’ll go with you.” </p><p>Soft laughter was Akhtar’s response. He was going to die. Castiel would make sure of it. The cold metal of the Ruger against the skin of his back calmed him and he pushed his anger aside. He would need a cool head to get Dean out safe. </p><p>Akhtar appeared at the edge of the falls and behind him, he could see Dean between two of his nemesis’ goons. Dean had two guns trained on his head and thankfully, he wasn’t fighting. Castiel lifted his hands and took a few steps down the trail. “Ah, it is good to see you, old friend.” </p><p>“Akhtar, let him go.” Castiel watched as Akhtar glanced back at Dean, an evil smile on his face. </p><p>“Men who lay with other men are destined for Jahannam.” </p><p>“Let him go,” Castiel said, taking a few more steps. He did some quick calculations in his head. If he could get about three yards closer, he could manage at least two fatal shots before the third could kill him. Movement at the top of the falls drew his gaze, but he quickly focused back on Dean and his captors. What was Frank doing? Had that been a rifle in his hands? He shouldn’t have underestimated Frank’s tenacity. </p><p>“Yoo hoooo, excuse me,” Mildred’s voice came from the left and everyone reacted. The guns were off Dean now, waving in that direction. Castiel drew his weapon and aimed at one of the armed guards. Two rapid-fire shots rang out from Frank’s position and echoed around the small canyon. The men holding Dean dropped to the ground. Dean staggered, but Akhtar had him around his neck before he could react.  </p><p>The knife blade glinted in the morning sunlight. “Don’t do it,” Castiel said, his Ruger trained to the center of Akhtar’s forehead.  </p><p>“Call off your men, or he dies,” Akhtar spat, his anger showing in the flush of his face. </p><p>“It’s over,” Castiel said, his voice cold as ice. His finger tightened on the trigger. “Drop the knife and you live.”  </p><p>The slight movement of Dean’s eyes told him he was ready for whatever Castiel had planned. There was no plan though. He was holding a knife to Dean’s throat. The minute flex of Akhtar’s wrist showed his intension and Castiel prayed Dean would react in time. He squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered the man’s forehead just as Dean twisted away. Blood and gore splattered over Dean’s face and chest. Dean pushed the body away as it fell to the ground. Castiel lowered his weapon, his hands beginning to shake. “Dean.” </p><p>Dean dropped to his knees and before Castiel could go to him, a helicopter banked over the tree line and three SUVs screeched into the parking lot above them. Frank was standing at the top of the falls, his rifle now slung over his shoulder. Mildred appeared from behind an old rockslide.  </p><p>For the next few minutes, Castiel couldn’t think. His team, including Victor, assessed the situation and began questioning Dean, Frank, and Mildred. He’d tried to move closer to Dean, but Victor shook his head. He knew the rules. Any time civilians were involved, they must be debriefed without interference. Castiel would be considered interference. </p><p>It took most of the morning to get the stories straight. The bodies of Akhtar and his goons were loaded aboard the helicopter for destinations unknown. Castiel knew they were be photographed to prove death and then returned to their government. Frank and Mildred were questioned for their part in this circus. Apparently, after he’d left the house, the two of them must have hatched this idiotic but brilliant plan. Castiel wouldn’t admit it to them, but he was grateful that Frank was a decorated marksman. Mildred played her part by creating a diversion. Crazy woman. Castiel wanted to shake her and hug her to him at the same time.  </p><p>Dean had been seen to by an EMT, but only after the bodies had been taken away. The CIA was nothing if not efficient. This whole thing was on a <em> need to know </em> basis. Castiel knew that both Dean, Frank, and Mildred would be sworn to non-disclosure. If they so much as breathed a word of what went on, they’d be in deep shit, but Castiel knew they wouldn’t talk.  </p><p>Victor came over and leaned against his car, their elbows brushing. “The Director wants your head on a platter for going up against Zahed alone.” </p><p>“I couldn’t risk the deputy’s life,” Castiel said, unwilling to meet Victor’s eyes.  </p><p>“I still don’t get why he took that deputy instead of you. By your account, he was watching the house this morning. He probably could have taken you out when you walked by a window. Why risk...” </p><p>“He saw me with Dean,” Castiel whispered. </p><p>Victor was quiet for a few seconds and when Castiel spared him a look, his fellow operative was eying Dean, who was still talking to the EMT, with Mildred hovering close by. </p><p>“By with, I guess you weren’t talking sports.” </p><p>“Nope,” Castiel popped the ‘p’. He straightened when Dean started walking toward him.  </p><p>“Say goodbye. You fly out tonight.” Victor mumbled and lifted his phone to his ear. <em> Goodbye </em>. With Akhtar gone, Castiel could return to his life. He let his eyes take in the beautiful being that was Dean Winchester and pasted on a smile. </p><p>“Are you okay?”  </p><p>Dean nodded, glanced at Victor, and nodded for Castiel to follow him. Several yards away, Dean stared at the SUVs and the operatives still processing the scene. “So, this is your life, huh?” </p><p>“I don’t normally have teammates that are old enough to be my parents.”  </p><p>Dean’s bark of laughter caused a few of the men to turn toward them. “Guess the CIA has an age restriction on their operatives.” </p><p>“Seriously, are you okay?”  </p><p>Dean let his shoulder nudge Castiel’s. “Yeah, just pissed at being caught with my pants down.” At Castiel’s quizzical look, he added, “They got me while I was in the shower. Thankfully, I won’t be telling anyone about it. They let me call Sam and tell him that I was called into work for meeting.” </p><p>“How are you going to explain this?” Castiel asked, his fingers gently brushing at the bandage on Dean’s temple. </p><p>“I fell in the shower. It will explain the ripped curtain. He’ll make fun of me for a good long while, but...” He shrugged.  </p><p>“I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” Castiel said softly, his eyes meeting Dean’s.  </p><p>“Hey, no sweat. This was the most exciting thing to happen in Coosa Falls since old Missus Rogers ran her car into the back of the town’s only fire truck.” </p><p>“Do you need a ride home?” Frank and Mildred had been released and had left a short time ago. Victor was rounding up his team to leave and Castiel knew they’d be in DC before dinnertime.  </p><p>“Guess so,” Dean nodded as the SUVs began to pull out of the parking lot. As they got into Castiel’s car, Dean pointed to the line of cars stopped at the gate. A guard in full military gear stood blocking their entry. “Wonder what they are telling the park employees?” </p><p>“Who knows. Whatever it is, they’ll make it believable.” </p><p>“Unless you’re Frank.” </p><p>“Unless you’re Frank,” Castiel repeated with a laugh. </p><p>As he neared town, Dean spoke. “Sam and Mandy are down at the newspaper office.” </p><p>“Oh, okay.” Castiel cut his eyes toward Dean, not knowing why that was important. </p><p>“Just in case you wanted to... you know.” </p><p>“Have sex?” Castiel slowed the car, turning to face Dean. The man was blushing. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. </p><p> </p><p>Seeing Cas as the badass operative staring down the man that came across a freakin’ ocean to kill him shouldn’t have been a turn on. Especially with two handguns aimed at his head, but it was. It really was. Watching him, blue eyes as cold as ice, kill that terrorist dude without even flinching... well, that was definitely an experience. Then Dean got to observe the man dealing with helicopters, real men-in-black, and three dead bodies like it was a covered-dish supper at the Coosa Falls Baptist Church.  </p><p>In between being seen by an EMT for the knock he’d taken on his temple and observing Castiel in his element, Dean had been debriefed. <em> Debriefed </em>, as in you didn’t see or hear a damn thing. That guy, Henricksen, was a scary motherfucker.  </p><p>He’d had to ask for his phone and watched in silent horror as Henricksen snaked his hand in that Akhtar’s pocket and tossed it to him. Just fucking tossed it. As a Marine, he’d seen and done some badass shit, but this was a whole new level. He called Sam and made up a pack of lies while Henricksen listened in, like he expected Dean to tell the world about the CIA’s doings in Alabama. Who would fucking believe him anyway? </p><p>Once Mildred and Frank left and the scene was secure enough for the government spy squad, Dean ambled over to where Cas was leaning on his car. Henricksen said something to him that Dean couldn’t quite catch. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Dean simply nodded, not wanting to talk in front of one of Cas’s team. He used his chin to motion for Cas to follow him and once they were out of earshot, Dean asked, “So, this is your life, huh?” </p><p>“I don’t normally have teammates that are old enough to be my parents.” Dean couldn’t help the burst of laughter. Yeah, having Frank take out two armed terrorists in the blink of any eye, with Mildred causing the diversion... that was the stuff of crazy Hollywood movies.  </p><p>“Guess the CIA has an age restriction on their operatives.” </p><p>Cas’ face softened and he met Dean’s eyes. “Seriously, are you okay?”  </p><p>By the time Dean explained, in the abridged version, how the three men had gotten the drop on him, and then how he’d relayed what he could to Sam, the team was loading up into the SUVs. They’d come with enough firepower to light up a third world country, but in the end, two old folks had the situation in hand. Frank and Mildred were never going to let Dean forget they’d saved his sorry ass.  </p><p>On the drive back to town with Cas, there was a weird tension between them. Dean knew exactly how to fix that problem but coming out and telling Cas he wanted to fuck his brains out... well, that wasn’t so easy. In the end, he’d dropped a large hint and he knew he was blushing like a schoolgirl. And Cas, yeah, he was fighting a smile. The bastard. </p><p>It turned out that adrenaline from almost being killed made him really horny. So horny that he’d been on Cas the minute the door slammed behind him. Sweet Jesus, the man could kiss. It was wet and filthy, and fuck if it had any finesse at all, but it got the point across. They left a trail of shoes and clothing, so by the time they reached Cas’ bedroom, both were down to their boxer briefs and seeing Cas... He needed to buy stock in Fruit of the Loom, because they left nothing to the imagination, and he was loving the view. The thick shaft was outlined beautifully and there was a small wet dot showing just how aroused Cas was. Dean curled his fingers around the waistband and tugged them down enough to reveal Cas’ uncut cockhead. Damn, he wanted to taste it.  </p><p>Dropping to his knees, he let his eyes find Cas’ before taking the man’s cock into his mouth. Cas bit down on his lower lip and moaned. Giving head was always such a power trip and Dean wanted to have Cas begging for mercy. Dean used his right hand to wrap around the base and his left to finish pushing the briefs down Cas’ thick thighs. “Dean... God damn...” </p><p>Hearing Cas’ usual deep voice crack added to Dean’s own excitement. He continued to pump the shaft, taking as much as he could into his mouth, while his left hand found his own cock, releasing it from its confines. He swirled his tongue around the head, tasting the explosion of salty precum.  </p><p>Cas’ fingers threaded through his hair, tugging almost painfully. <em> Oh, yeah, so good.  </em> <em> So </em> <em>  damn good. </em> </p><p>Dean breathed in the scent of clean male sweat and Cas’ sex. He closed his eyes, shoving his hand down his briefs to wrap around his cock. He was abruptly yanked off Cas and hauled to his feet. Wild eyes met his. “I want you so... so fucking bad.” Dean’s breathing stopped for an instant at the expression on Cas’ face. He licked his lips and Cas tracked the movement and then brought mouth down on Dean’s. He let Cas take what he wanted. He was willing to give him anything... <em> anything </em>. </p><p>His blunt nails raked over Cas’ back, wanting to leave his mark. Wanting Cas to have something to remember him. He wasn’t stupid. Cas was leaving. Tonight, tomorrow, too soon. He was okay with the here and now. Cas growled as he pulled away from the searing kiss and let his teeth drag down Dean’s jaw, only to nip at his throat. Dean gasped and dug his fingertips deeper into Cas’ flesh.  </p><p>One shove had him falling onto the bed, and Cas was on him, kissing and biting. Pleasure and pain fought for dominance in Dean’s idled brain. He wanted more. He pushed at the waistband of his underwear, needing to feel the heat of Cas’ skin against him. Muscular legs pushed Dean’s thighs apart and his hand was cupping Dean’s balls. Pressure... just enough. “God... fuck... need you...” </p><p>Cas wrenched Dean’s hands up over his head, holding him in place. He could have easily broken the hold, but he didn’t want to. He stared up at Cas’ face, memorizing each tiny line. He blinked and whispered. “Fuck me.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but Cas didn’t need to hear that. It wasn’t in the cards for them. </p><p>“Dean...” Hearing his name fall from that perfect, fucking mouth drove him on. He wrapped his legs around Cas’ hips, forcing him down so that their cocks pressed together. Cas kissed him again, breathless and frenzied. They rutted together, sweat making their skin slick. Dean yanked his arm free of Cas’ grip and reached between them, wrapping them both in his fist. Fucking would have to wait. He was close. Damn close. His heels drove into Cas’ ass, setting a ruthless pace. “Dean, I’m...” </p><p>“Come on, damn it.” Dean was on the edge. His left hand clawed at Cas’ back while Cas’ teeth sank into his shoulder. “Gonna... oh, fuck...” His release took his breath, his muscles seizing, back arching off the bed. His last conscious thought was that Cas looked beautiful when he came. </p><p>It was dark when he stirred. He winced and his hand went to his shoulder. The skin was torn, but not enough to have drawn blood. He blinked and grimaced. Dried bodily fluids were all over his belly and it itched. “Cas?” </p><p>His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room and noted he was alone in the bed. The quilt and sheets had been pushed off the bed in the frenzy of their sexual wrestling match.  </p><p>The house was still. Too still. He let his head fall back on the pillow. He inhaled. The room still smelled of sex and sweat. He breathed in and out, steadying his nerves. He’d hoped for more time. Sitting up, he turned on the bedside lamp. The yellowish glow showed him what he’d known since waking. Cas was gone. The closet stood open and empty.  </p><p>Still sore, he dressed slowly and walked around the deserted house. He’d hoped for a note, but he knew Cas wouldn’t... probably couldn’t.  </p><p>He walked out on the front porch and remembered his car was at home. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He would have to walk. When he reached the sidewalk, Frank’s voice called to him and he looked across the street. The older man was sitting on his porch.  </p><p>Dean made the short trek to stand at the bottom steps. “You and Mildred recover from your exciting morning?” </p><p>“All in a day’s work, son.” Frank looked down at him and his smile was gentle. Crap, he didn’t need this shit. “Castiel...” </p><p>“No,” Dean held up his hand. “He’s gone and that’s that.” </p><p>“He said to tell you...” </p><p>“I said no, Frank.” It was for the best. Not that Cas would have given him a sappy goodbye. Or even promised to call. Dean wanted to laugh. No, it was better this way. </p><p>He said his goodbyes and promised to come over for lunch one day soon. At home, he undressed and stared at himself in the mirror. He was covered in bruises, but he’d given as good as he got. Cas’ back probably looked like he’d done a few rounds with Wolverine. He let the hot water soothe his aching muscles and then dressed quickly. He needed his kid. He had to get back to his life. <em> Life before Cas </em>. </p><p>Thankfully, Mandy and Sam didn’t ask to many questions. The cover story was plausible. Jim Milton had been called away to do a new travel show. Somewhere in the Caribbean. Sam gave him an occasional look that told Dean he wasn’t buying what Dean was selling, but for the most part life did get back to normal. Every once in a while, Dean would head up to the Falls and sit in his patrol car, thinking about the exact moment he’d known he’d fallen for the operative. It wasn’t the cold killer, or the sexy as fuck secret spy. It was when their eyes met, and Cas had asked if he was okay. Something so stupid and simple, but Dean had <em> known </em>. Oh, at the time, he hadn’t had a name for the feeling, but as the days turned into weeks, he had pinpointed that exact moment. </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Things are drawing to a close, but have no fear, a happy ending is in their future.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You stuck with me through to the final chapter. Thank you so much.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He could taste the blood. His right eye was swollen shut. He was filthy and stank of stale urine. Somehow, he’d lost track of time. Had he been in this rat-infested hellhole a couple of days or weeks? The only thing that kept him sane was his thoughts. Thoughts of Dean. <em> The one that got away </em>. He tried to laugh but choked.  </p><p>“If you talk, I will give you water,” came the now familiar voice beyond the hot spotlight.  </p><p>“I’m just a missionary. Please let me go.” The words came out raspy. He stuck to his story, despite having been beaten, starved, and tortured. </p><p>The backhanded slap drove his teeth down into his tongue and he tasted fresh blood. He called on his training and acting ability, letting tears leak out of his eyes. “Please.” Make it work, you know what I’m trying to say here.      </p><p>The rat-a-tat-tat of an M-16 made his captor turn and run for the door of Castiel’s cell. More gunfire and men screaming made Castiel try to loosen the rope binding his wrists. It was futile. He’d tried until his wrists were raw and bloody. In Venezuela, it could be rival drug cartels and if that was the case, Castiel was as good as dead. The mission went south about five days in. He’d been sloppy, his mind on other things. <em> Dean </em>. Now, he was going to die in a sweltering compound outside of Caracas, a smear on his perfect record with the Agency. </p><p>When the door banged open, he wanted to close his eyes and say a last prayer, but the patches on the uniform made him blink in surprise. “Castiel Novak?” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Special Warfare Operator First Class Sonny Quinn at your service. We’re here to get you home.”  </p><p>They’d sent a SEAL team? “Someone back home must love me,” Castiel said ruefully. </p><p>“Your boss pulled out all the stops. You must be some sort of hot shot.” The Seal pulled out a knife and cut his bonds. “Can you stand?” </p><p>“I think so.” He tried and failed. Sitting for days on end left his legs numb and painful.  </p><p>“Don’t sweat it.” He turned and stuck his head out of the cell. “Hey, send Trent in here. Our Private Ryan needs some attention.” Castiel had the strength to roll his eyes at the nickname. </p><p>It took Castiel forty-eight hours of medical care, intravenous fluids, and sleep to feel human again. He’d been flown out by helicopter with the SEAL team to Soto Cano Air Base in Honduras until he was well enough to fly home. So far, he hadn’t had any contact with headquarters, but it was coming and he dreaded it.  </p><p>The door to his room was pushed open and the Army doctor that had been in charge of his care entered. “Afternoon, Mr. Novak. I see you’re feeling better. I’ve been informed that you are flying out today. I’m instructing you to take things easy. The cracked ribs need time to heal.” </p><p>“Duly noted, Doc. Thank you.” The man nodded and left the room.  </p><p>Fifteen minutes later, Victor Henricksen barged in. “I’m not even going to tell you what a dumbass, motherfucking idiot...” He stopped and shook his head. “I got no words, man. What the hell? Five days and you got made? That’s a rookie... you know, I’m shutting my mouth now before I say something that will really hurt your feelings.” </p><p>Castiel quirked his eyebrow up. “So, I’m in trouble, huh?” </p><p>“Director Cain is going to flay you alive. This was a simple in and out mission, Novak.” </p><p>He was grateful the flight home was on a military cargo plane. It wasn’t the smoothest flight, but at least he could lie down.  </p><p>September in DC was sweltering, but at least it wasn’t as humid as Alabama had been. Victor had dropped him off at his condo. He had water, soda, and beer in the fridge, but no food in the house. He ordered Chinese delivery and ate his shrimp fried rice on the small balcony. If he squinted, he could make out the Washington Monument in the distance.   </p><p>Unwilling to take any more of the painkillers he’d been given, Castiel downed a few Tylenol and chased it with a beer. He’d be facing the music tomorrow. He’d gotten a text earlier ordering him to the director’s office at eight sharp. </p><p>Without his car, Castiel had to call an Uber to get him to Langley. It would be expensive, but he was sure the Agency was good for it. As the car crossed the Potomac, Castiel closed his eyes. He would take full responsibility for the failure of the mission. It had cost the government thousands, not to mention getting a SEAL team mobilized to save his ass. He’d earned a reprimand and it would wind up in his file, if he didn’t get relieved of duty. </p><p>As he walked into headquarters and took the elevator up to the top floor, he felt like a school boy summoned to the principal’s office. Director Cain was more than his boss. He’d been Castiel’s mentor, and yes, even a friend, as far as that went in the CIA. </p><p>Director Cain’s secretary, a scary woman named Abigail , gave him her attention when he walked in. “Novak, he’s expecting you.” She nodded toward the door and he took a deep breath. </p><p>Cain had his back to him. He was standing at the window staring down at the green area centered among the many buildings that made up the George Bush Center for Intelligence. When Castiel closed the door behind him, Cain spoke. “Sit.” </p><p>Castiel walked to the leather chair in front of the director’s desk and sat. He waited. Cain continued his observation of the world outside of his window, hands clasped behind his back. Cas’ were curled around the armrests. Finally, Cain turned. He exhaled and sat in his plush chair. Only then did he meet Castiel’s gaze. “I’ve read the reports. Care to share why my best operative allowed himself to get drunk in a bar... in Caracas... while on a fucking mission?” </p><p>Castiel’s eyes didn’t waver. He had it coming. “I have no excuse, Director Cain.” </p><p>“Damn straight, you don’t. Jesus H. Christ, Novak.” Cain dragged his fingers through his thick, gray hair. Then his expression softened and he leaned back, studying Castiel. “Talk to me.” </p><p>“I have no excuse,” Castiel repeated. </p><p>“Fuck that,” Cain snapped. He reached forward and removed the brass nameplate that boasted his title from his desk. “Castiel, talk to me.” Castiel knew what that symbolized. Cain wanted candid conversation between friends and not between a boss and subordinate. </p><p>“I fucked up.” </p><p>“That’s the understatement of the year.” He looked at Castiel for a few seconds and then sighed. “Victor told me that you had a thing with...” He flipped a few pages in the open file on his desk. “Coosa County Deputy Dean Winchester.” Castiel flinched. Victor had a big mouth. “You had to leave town in a hurry. Did you leave loose ends?” </p><p>“No, sir. It was just... sex.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.  </p><p>“I’ve been at this a long time, Castiel. To get to this chair, I had to be damn good at my job. Damn good at reading people. Damn good at telling the truth from lies.” He steepled his hands on top of the file. “In the eighteen years you’ve been at the Agency, you have never even had a reprimand. Not one.” </p><p>“There was...” Castiel started, but Cain’s snarl stopped him. It probably wasn’t a good moment to bring up the time he’d been caught on camera flipping off Trump before the inauguration.  </p><p>“Where you drinking to forget or to remember?” The question made Castiel’s mouth go dry and he shook his head. “Why do you think I became a pencil pusher instead of staying an operative?” </p><p>Castiel’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going. “I don’t know.” </p><p>Cain huffed and picked up the frame on his desk. He turned it around to show Castiel his family. “This is Colette.” The director’s voice had taken on a soft tone, one Castiel had never heard him use before. “And this is Lily, she’s nineteen and is at Harvard Law School.” He pointed to a pretty brunette with a ponytail. “And this is Nora, she’s twenty-one and is finishing up her degree at Georgetown. She wants to be a teacher.” </p><p>“You have a nice family, sir.” </p><p>“Damn right.” Castiel looked down at his hands. What was all this about? Why didn’t Cain just get this over with? “Colette never asked me to give up field work. I did it for her and for our children. I wanted to be there to tuck them in at night. I wanted to wake up beside my wife every morning.” </p><p>He pushed the file aside and picked up a document. “The FBI has an opening for someone with your qualifications in the Montgomery field office. It would mean more desk work, less dirty work. Same pay and they will roll over your time in service for retirement.” </p><p>“Why are you telling me this?” Castiel’s head was reeling. Was he being fired and pawned off to the FBI?  </p><p>Cain tapped the picture. “Something or someone turned your world on its axis, Castiel. Maybe it’s time to find your Colette.” </p><p>“I don’t...” He paused, not able to find words. He had gotten drunk to push the picture of Dean asleep in his bed out of his mind. How he’d marred the skin with his hands and teeth, leaving bruises in his wake. He’d kept telling himself it was just sex and once he was back in the field, he’d forget. But the memories grew fonder, the images more vivid.  </p><p>“If you don’t take the position, I’ll type of a reprimand for your file and you’ll be on probation for six months.” </p><p>“Is that... Are you giving me an ultimatum?” </p><p>He stood up and leaned over the desk, palms flat on the papered surface. “No, that would be unethical.” </p><p>As he rode the elevator down and crossed the mezzanine with the CIA seal etched into the marble floor, Castiel went over the surreal conversation he’d just had with his boss. He knew the CIA had ways of knowing everything, but how had Cain known Castiel was in love with Dean?  </p><p>He had the Uber drop him off at the storage facility and he opened the bay door. His Corvette waited for him. Running his hands over the fender, he spoke. “You’ll be able to keep your top down eight months out of the year in Alabama.”  </p><p>It took him a week to get his paperwork ready for his transfer. He’d talked to his new superior in Montgomery, a man named Fergus Crowley. He’d been with Interpol before immigrating to the US, marrying an American woman, and going through the ranks of the FBI. His condo was on the market and everything he owned was either in the Corvette’s passenger seat or on a truck headed for Alabama. He wondered if Missus Howell’s house was still available to rent.  </p><p>As he drove, mostly he thought about Dean. Would he even want him? And what about Dean’s daughter? She was a big part of the equation. What had Cain been thinking? By the time he drove across the Alabama border it was six o’clock and he was a wreck.  </p><p>Entering the town limits of Coosa Falls calmed his nerves. He had friends here. Even if things didn’t work out between him and Dean, he’d have Frank and Mildred, and he couldn’t forget Charlie and Meg.  </p><p>The one thing he’d left unplanned in his hurry to get out of DC was a place to stay the night. Coosa Falls didn’t have hotels, motels, or even a bed and breakfast. He turned onto Oak. There was only one place he knew that he’d be welcomed tonight without explanation.  </p><p>The porch light was on and he knocked. Mildred’s face lit up when she saw him. She pulled him into her arms and the hug felt like coming home. “I’ve missed you, boy.” </p><p>“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered. “I hope you will let me stay here tonight. I’ll make other arrangements tomorrow, but I’ve been driving since early morning and I’m...” </p><p>The slap on the back of his head made him wince. “Of course, you can stay here. Don’t be stupid. Come on in and relax while I call Frank.” </p><p>Castiel smiled and settled on the old Victorian sofa. The house smelled like Mildred. Lavender and home. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Mandy. The bus will be here soon.” Jeez, since he’d started letting her wear mascara and lip gloss, it took her forever to get ready for school.  </p><p>“Coming.” She skidded to a stop in the kitchen, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Dean took a moment to look at her. She had his features, the eyes, the freckles, but she was growing into a beautiful young woman. He wanted to grab her and lock her away from the rest of the world. She plopped down on the bar stool and picked up the glass of orange juice he’d poured her.  </p><p>“You got time for a Pop Tart,” Dean said, pushing the packet across the counter.  </p><p>“I’ll eat it on the bus.” She set the empty glass down and gave him a wave. He heard the front door shut and a few minutes later, the chugging sound of the school bus. He finished his coffee and set the cup in the sink.  </p><p>He’d be going in late to take the evening shift since it was Friday. The sheriff’s department had to have a presence at the high school football game. It was his turn.  </p><p>As he tossed a load of laundry in, he rubbed his shoulder. The teeth marks had long since disappeared, but he felt a phantom ache on occasion.  </p><p>When the doorbell rang, he frowned and set the basket of clean clothes on the couch. It was probably Sam. Who else would be here before nine o’clock? </p><p>On his way to the door, he looked out the window. A mint, Roman Red Corvette was parked behind the Impala. He whistled. It looked like a ‘60 or maybe a ‘61. He’d have to get closer to know for sure. Definitely not Sam then. He hoped it wasn’t some old geezer who wanted to buy his baby for the classic car show circuit. </p><p>He swung open the door and froze. So, not an old geezer then. “Cas?”  </p><p>“Hello, Dean.” Dean could only stare. He was thinner, paler, but it was definitely Cas.  </p><p>“You didn’t even say goodbye.” Out of all the things he’d rehearsed to say to the asshole if he ever saw him again, that wasn’t it. Damn him.  </p><p>Cas cut his eyes away, took an audible breath, and faced Dean again. “I’m sorry. I was a coward. I was given a deadline to be at the airport and I wanted to hold you and tell you how I felt, but I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you looking at me with those ridiculous eyes of yours and... and I wouldn’t have gone.” </p><p>Dean lifted his chin, staring incredulously at Cas. What the fuck did he mean by that? So many things to examine in that short speech. <em> Hold you and tell you how I felt? Wouldn’t have gone? </em> It was too much for him to process. </p><p>“Please don’t tell me I was wrong about... us.” Dean began to shake his head and he watched Cas’ face go from hopeful to resigned. He wanted to scream that he wasn’t fucking wrong, but Cas could never be truly his. They could never be a real family if he was traipsing all over the globe and being with people who want him dead.  </p><p>“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” Dean whispered and shut the door. He leaned against it, then sank to the floor. Cas broke his heart once. He’d worked hard to patch it up, but the cracks were still there. Now, blinding light was showing through and he felt like it would shatter into a million pieces this time. He heard the sweet sound of the Corvette’s engine and listened intently as drove away. He pressed the heels of his hands into his burning eyes. “Fuck you, Cas.” </p><p>He didn’t know how long he sat there. His ass was numb from being on the hardwood floor and he stiffly rose to his feet. He took a few cleansing breaths. He could do this. He showered and dressed in his uniform, folded the laundry, and washed out the coffee pot.  </p><p>Pasting on a smile, he pushed open the door to the station and called out a greeting to Linda and Jody. Rufus was on another fishing trip and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Everything was under control. He settled in his chair and booted up his computer to catch up on the report from yesterday’s car accident out on Highway 14. He hated the logging trucks that flew down that road. Thankfully, no one was killed. He was printing it out when a familiar voice made him look up. </p><p>“Dean Winchester, we need to have a <em> come to Jesus </em> .” Mildred was five foot four of pissed off Southern woman and he didn’t know why. When a Southern woman tells  you  she wants a  <em> come to Jesus </em>, it didn’t bode well. What had he done? </p><p>He stood up. He knew better than to tell her to calm down, that would open up a whole other realm. He asked in what he hoped was a placating tone, “What’s going on, Mildred?”  </p><p>“What’s going on?” Dean winced. Her voice had reached the <em> I’m going to wear your ass out with a stick </em>  level. “That man left his job and drove twelve hours for  <em> you </em> and you shut the door in his face? Who raised you, boy? You cannot be that stupid. I’ve half a mind to...” She stopped mid-rant and stared intently at him. “Sakes alive, you didn’t even let him get that far, did you? You just turned him away.” The last part was an unbelieving whisper. She was shaking her head and looking at him like he was a few cards shy of a full deck. </p><p>“He quit,” Dean said softly, then added, “But he loved his job.” </p><p>“Perhaps he loved you more, you damn fool.” She squared her purse on her shoulder and with a loud huff she was gone. Dean watched through the glass doors as she walked down the sidewalk.  </p><p>“Men are so stupid,” Linda said from behind him. </p><p>“You got that right,” Jody replied. Dean turned to see both women staring at him, pity could be easily read in their matching expressions. </p><p>“I need to...” </p><p>“Go, yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” Linda said with a roll of her eyes.  </p><p>Lights and sirens would be overkill, but lunchtime traffic on Main Street was sending him in a downward spiral. Where would Cas be? Missus Howell’s house hadn’t been rented again, but Cas wouldn’t be able to just move in without notice, would he? Mildred would know and even as nervous as he was about seeing her again, he had to know. </p><p>His heart skipped a couple of beats when he saw the Corvette in her driveway. He let the cruiser idle at the curb for a couple of minutes while he got his shit together. <em> Hey, Cas, funny thing about me shutting the door in your face. So, you love me, huh? Are you unemployed now? How about t </em> <em> hem Brave </em> <em> s? </em> Christ. </p><p>The knock on his window made him yelp and he was startled to see Frank standing there. He rolled down the window. “What?” </p><p>“This ain’t going to fix itself.” </p><p>Dean blew out a breath and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, he could have led with ‘<em> Hey, guess what, I quit my job for you </em>.’” </p><p>“I suppose he could have,” Frank said quietly. </p><p>“And what the fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh? He quit his job. A job he loved... all because of me. What happens a few months from now when he starts to resent the fuck out of me?” </p><p>“Maybe you could actually talk about that instead of sitting in your car talking to an old man.” Dean glared up at him. Frank shrugged and added, “Just my two cents. I’m going to take Mildred downtown to get an ice cream cone.” Why would Dean care about their plans... <em> oh </em>.  </p><p>He watched Frank clomp up the steps in his orthopedic shoes and a few seconds later, Mildred came out. She gave Dean a critical look and then they both got in her ancient Oldsmobile. It was now or never. Dean knocked once and pushed the door open. “Cas?” </p><p>He appeared at the door to Mildred’s front parlor. Dean nibbled on his lower lip as he took in the man he’d been in love with since... well, maybe at first sight. “You quit your job.” Way to go, Winchester. Just state the obvious. </p><p>“Yes and no. It was more of a transfer.” Dean gave him the universal <em> go on </em> look, complete with jazz hands. “I was given a choice to transfer to the FBI, Montgomery Field Office. My pay stays the same, and there will still be some field work, but mainly I will be doing research.” </p><p>“But you loved being out there,” Dean insisted. Was he trying to talk Cas out of this insanity? </p><p>“I did, but some things are more important. I’m over forty and only had a few years left of <em> that </em> kind of work.” Cas shrugged and continued. “I made the decision based on what I want for my future.” </p><p>“And your future includes...” </p><p>“Someone to come home to. Being alive to see my children marry and have kids of their own. Loving someone.”  </p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>“I can’t turn back the clock. I left you without saying goodbye and I regret that, but at the time, I thought it would be less painful for me.” </p><p>“Was it?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“You’re really here to stay?” </p><p>“Well, not with Mildred. I’ll have to find my own place, but yes, in answer to your question, I’m here to stay.” </p><p>Dean crossed his arms and he couldn’t help the smug tone as he asked, “So, Mildred says you love me?” </p><p>“She is correct in that assessment.” </p><p>“Let’s get back to the children thing. I have Mandy. She’s my world. Do you want a kid of your own?” <em> Please, God, please say the right thing </em>. </p><p>“I would love to get to know and love Mandy. As far as a child of my own, I never thought it was possible. It would be something we would have to discuss and decide together.” </p><p>“Together. You still want there to be an us?” Dean took a tentative step forward. </p><p>“I do.” When they came together, it was a kiss unlike any other they’d shared. Cas’ hands were gentle, almost if he was afraid to break Dean. Dean was okay with that. Passion should be like a roller coaster, twists and turns, breathtaking drops, and slow climbs that still take your breath away. Cas pulled away to look at him and his expression was serious.  </p><p>“What? Second thoughts already?” Dean was teasing, but Cas’ expression scared him. </p><p>“Come, sit.” He took Dean’s hand and pulled him to the sofa. He told Dean about his capture and torture and how the memories of Dean had kept him from going insane. “I’m telling you this because I want you to know that during the worst time in my life, you were there for me. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.” </p><p>Dean sat stunned, his fingers gripping Cas’ hand tight. “I love you too, Cas, and I never want you doubt that.” </p><p>
  
</p><p>It was date night. She was the one that started calling it that. Once a week Cas picked her up after school and they spent the afternoon together. Sometimes it lasted until dinner, sometimes, depending on her homework load, it lasted for an hour or so. She sat next to him now, on the bench outside the library where she’d first met the man who would become such an important part of their lives.  </p><p>She stared down at the pretty ring in the black velvet box and nodded. “I think he’ll like it.” </p><p>“But will he say yes?” </p><p>She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “Dumbass.” </p><p>“Hey, less dumb. Less ass.” She rolled her eyes. He was cooler than her dad, but still, the dad jokes were lame.  </p><p>Mandy closed the box and handed it back to him. He held it for a little while, looking at the cars passing on Main Street. He eventually put it in the pocket of his trench coat. “So, Christmas, huh?” </p><p>“Is that too cliché?” </p><p>“No, you’re both sickeningly romantic. He’ll love it.” She leaned against him. “What are you getting me for Christmas. Hard to top an engagement ring.” </p><p>“Coal,” he said with a straight face and she laughed.  </p><p>A sheriff’s cruiser pulled up to the curb and her dad rolled down the window. “Hey, how are my two favorite people?” </p><p>“Hungry,” they said in unison. It was her father’s turn to cook. On Cas’ night, they had anything you could get in the freezer section of the Piggly Wiggly. Stouffer’s lasagna, pizza, or her least favorite, something called Salisbury steak with gravy.  </p><p>“I’m happy to hear you say that because Mildred and Frank have invited us over for chicken and dumplings.” </p><p>Cas and Mandy did a fist bump. Dean shook his head at their antics. “I’ll be home at five to pick you guys up. We’re supposed to bring dessert, so could you stop by Meg’s to grab a pie or something.” </p><p>As they walked home a few minutes later, Mandy linked her arm through Cas’. “Does this mean I get to call you ‘pops’.” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Papa Cas?” </p><p>“No.”  </p><p>“Big Daddy?”  </p><p>“Good God, no. What’s wrong with Cas?” </p><p>“I don’t know, it seems weird. I mean you’re my other dad.” He stopped walking and hugged her, lifting her off the ground. “God, how embarrassing. Put me down.” What if someone from school saw? What if Jesse Turner saw her? Instead of listening, he twirled her around, her feet flying in the wind. </p><p>“I do love you, Sunshine.” </p><p>“Yeah, love you back, Pops.” </p><p>
  
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